


Shadowheart

by destieljunkie



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Acorn Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, BotFA Fix-It, Cultural Differences, Dragon Sickness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt Bilbo Baggins, Implied Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon, M/M, Magic, Mpreg, Obsessive Behaviour, Possessive Thorin, Protective Thorin, Thilbo, bagginshield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-01-23 17:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 104,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12512432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destieljunkie/pseuds/destieljunkie
Summary: Bilbo is forced back to The Shire before the Battle of the Five Armies is over. He remembers Thorin dying in his arms but something just feels wrong inside his heart and he longs to see the mountains again. Struggling to find some peace after losing the one he loved. Bilbo resigns himself to a lifetime of loneliness but Fate has a very different plan for both of them.





	1. An Unexpected Calling

**1\. An Unexpected Calling**

Bilbo stretched out his back with a yawn. Falling asleep in his little chair by the fire had become a habit since his return from Erebor. He still ached all over, never finding it easy to rest when all he saw every time he closed his eyes was cold death etched so deep on Thorin’s features he might have been made of stone. Watching the light leave those bright eyes had squished his heart like an overripe peach. Crushing all hope and taking a piece of the hobbit’s damaged soul with it. Bound forever to the one he lost.

Bilbo tried to settle back into his comfortable life in The Shire, he really did. Once he turfed out a bunch of confounded relatives and set his Hobbit hole in order. Gandalf had sent Bilbo home on eagle express, swooping him away from danger just before the Battle of the Five Armies was a done deal. For the first week all he wanted to do was sleep, but now it didn’t come easy and the void left inside him with Thorin’s passing would never be filled.

Nothing could erase the many horrors that filled tormented dreams. Standing on the mountainside above a sea of golden armour. Elves and Men, far as the eye could see. Maybe he knew then how it would end. Always waking in the dark with sweat beading on his skin, shaken from another terrible nightmare. This last one scared him so badly, Bilbo knew he would never get back to sleep. He padded to the kitchen for a pitcher of water, blinking sleepy images away to try and calm his racing heart. Clear as if it happened only yesterday. Bilbo remembered the numbing chill in the air, biting wind casting hair about his face. The Company was preparing to defend Erebor after the dragon had fallen, and Thorin being Thorin decided he would rather face a massacre than hand over a few silly diamonds.

“What are you doing?” Bilbo had gasped in disbelief, heart in his mouth when he saw Thorin’s cold mask of stone. Unmoving as the mountain he claimed. “You cannot go to war.” Bilbo couldn’t stop it from spilling out if Thorin was prepared to risk the lives of his closest kin, his own even - and for what? A stupid stone. Bilbo held back a sob at the tragic absurdity of it all. What was a jewel worth above the price of a life? He was the only one who dared to ask this of Thorin, even in his madness. Not just to stop a senseless war, but because he cared fiercely about what would happen to his friends when they were so hopelessly outnumbered. Even then he might have bitten his tongue in front of a Dwarf king surrendering his tentative grip on reality if he hadn’t been so scared of losing him. _No_. Bilbo thought. _It wasn’t just the threat of battle_. _He did it out of_ – _love_. Bilbo caught his breath. He felt something soul deep for Thorin. Something beyond the admiration and respect he would admit to freely. His one heart’s desire pushed down in denial since his return, just to make the pain go away. All his senses were suddenly flooded by cherished memories of Thorin’s handsome face, the seductive blue of his eyes. Beautiful mouth opening softly to let the deep rumble of his voice spill forth like clear water rippling over pebbles in a stream. Bilbo had hidden the Arkenstone believing the prize Thorin coveted most would be the one to cause him the most harm. Willing to risk their friendship and his place in the Company just to keep the king free from the curse. Bilbo had failed him, and everything hurt.

He was nothing more than a miserable Shire rat. The poor hobbit was still haunted by those curses. Thorin’s piercing eyes burning with hurt at his betrayal as they filled with tears. Consuming every nightmare while Bilbo tossed in restless sleep, night after night. He was so sorry they parted without true forgiveness. His eternal punishment for meddling in something he should have just left well enough alone. What right did a little halfling from The Shire have to change the fate of Durin’s line? None of it mattered now. His heart felt like it would break apart in his chest at the thought of never being able to touch him again. Bilbo shivered despite the warmth, when he remembered standing on the ramparts of Erebor that fateful day he scaled the walls with tears spilling down his face. Running in fear from the threat of being thrown to his death while a king he once held in awe watched his tiny body get dashed to pieces on the rocks below.

Bilbo could never quite recall the exact moment he fell in love with Thorin. Maybe it was when he saw the tenderness in those soft eyes when he touched his head to Kíli to ease his pain. The bravery he showed when Bilbo watched the king stride through searing flame to meet the pale orc with nothing more than a sword and a vambrace of hewn bark. Perhaps even the suffocating embrace on the Carrock. Thorin’s heat seeping into his skin and taking his breath away. Bilbo supposed the specifics didn’t really matter because there it was. He, a simple hobbit from The Shire, was hopelessly in love with a Dwarven king who would never know how much the little burglar cared for him. His heart would always be broken and Thorin would still be dead. He could no more change any of that than he could stay the passage of time, or stop the sun from climbing up the sky. Bilbo wiped away silent tears that had settled on his cheeks before he even realised he was crying. Damp trails of spent sorrow glinting in the dying firelight.

Bilbo never had much interest in love. He was more than happy in his own company, and devoting all your attentions to someone could be dangerous. Might make you late for dinner. A risk Bilbo was never prepared to take. But the hobbit wanted so much for the king to trust him. Thorin was different. Loyalty, honour, a willing heart was all he wanted. No one could ask for more, and Bilbo gave his all without expecting anything in return. He tried so hard to be brave. Thorin’s little lionheart.

Maybe the quest was doomed before they even left Bag End. The Company was hardly the stuff of legend. Bilbo had signed the contract, devoted his fealty in abundance but it never seemed to be enough for the king. Bilbo knew Thorin had doubted him from the start. If he was honest, most of his occasional bouts of heroism had been accidental. He wasn’t a hero, or a warrior. He wasn’t even a burglar, but Gandalf seemed to see something bright shine inside him. Hobbit sense still held him back, and Bilbo sometimes wished he had never gone at all. To know what true love felt like, only to lose it so soon was worse than death. The small burst of relief rushing through him when the dwarves left was quickly replaced by an appetite for adventure. Completely lost, and cursing himself for not jumping at the chance to follow that beautiful Dwarf. Down dark dungeons and into a dragon’s lair if he had to, just to prove his worth.

The king was hardly known for his subtlety, but Thorin had given Bilbo a pony in the hope it might make him feel more like one of the Company. Already deciding he wanted to keep him close after the hobbit fell asleep during that first night. Bilbo never knew it, but Thorin had watched him for a long time when the rest of the house was shrouded in darkness. Taking in every soft curve of his face, the flit of long eyelashes while they fluttered through restless dreams. It was late morning by the time he woke up. Bilbo never imagined he would find someone who might have been crafted just for him to worship. Thorin looked like a bit dropped off when he was standing next to Gandalf or one of the Elf-lords, but he had the edge on Bilbo. Like they were made to slot together. His golden head fitting perfectly into the crook of Thorin’s shoulder, even with the boots off. A small chink of happiness broke through his despair, but he forced it away. Bilbo never intended to smile again. He hadn’t bargained on falling in love either, but there was bugger all he could do about that now. His heart would always belong to Thorin. Infinite and absolute.

  

A few weeks had passed since Bilbo’s return to Hobbiton, but it felt like a long lonely lifetime. More empty hours without purpose, another day without Thorin. Bilbo often found his mind being drawn back to the mountains. There was so much left unfinished, unsaid. He even missed the other dwarves, and The Shire didn’t really feel like home anymore. There was no more joy in morning birdsong, no happiness from dipping his little toes in Bywater pool at sunset. Even the food he once loved tasted flavourless and stale. It just seemed wrong to enjoy such simple pleasures while Thorin lay in a cold tomb with nothing to comfort him in eternal sleep.

Bilbo felt sick again when he thought about what might have been. Finding the king’s body splayed out like a frozen statue, once so hopeful and full of life. Bilbo had fallen to his knees where the dwarf lay dying. Cold slinking up through his body and turning his bones to ice while Thorin caressed his elbow with a fondness he never shared before. He was glad Bilbo was by his side when he breathed his last, taking a tiny shred of happiness from the warmth of a little Hobbit hand in his own before everything fell into darkness. Bilbo had curled his fingers around the stiff palm, longing to tell Thorin how much he wanted him to stay. Robbed forever of that chance by a meddling wizard and a very uncomfortable eagle. The howl of impossible pain that poured from his mouth would haunt him forever. There were no words in any language on Middle-earth that could do justice to the depths of his grief. Every waking minute felt like he was wading through fog. Mind and body splintered beyond repair.

Bilbo fell deeper into despair with each dark day that passed. He would never forget Thorin, but age and time would steal those precious images and the hobbit wanted to keep his memory alive. Bilbo searched out an ink well and some parchment from his desk in the hope writing it all down would make it real somehow. Help him to remember how happy he was walking the green hills and valleys with the king by his side. Trying to picture Thorin in his mind when he picked up a quill.

Bilbo sat by the window for a long time, tip of the feather lodged in his mouth. Thorin was always in his thoughts, but he wasn’t sure how to start. His gaze was drawn to the map spread open in front of him. Ered Luin - the Blue Mountains, marked in one corner bordering the Grey Havens. Thorin once told Bilbo part of his story. How so many of his people fled from their home after Smaug came. Wandering the countryside, never belonging anywhere. Just another reason why the quest was so important to him. Erebor was just a distant light in his memory. How Thorin’s heart had yearned for home while the forges turned ashen cold. Nothing more than a forgotten kingdom he was forced to leave behind.

Bilbo started to scratch out the sad tale of Thorin’s many years on the road, with the dwarf taking work where he could find it. _He deserved so much better_. Thorin had proved his worth in combat, as a leader of his people. One who the dwarves could truly call King. _A king_. Bilbo thought dreamily. _How wonderful it would have been to be loved by him_.

He made a complete mess of everything, despite his futile efforts to stop the battle. Bilbo knew none of it was really his fault, but he blamed himself anyway. The hobbit wrote down as much as he could remember, but painful memories and a handful of scribbled pages were not enough to fill an empty heart. Bilbo wanted to see his friends again, hear tales of the legendary King under the Mountain and how much he had sacrificed to make Erebor great once more. Bilbo owed it to Thorin to pay his final respects to the fallen. His furry feet were restless, and he was itching to travel again. Walking familiar paths to try and ease the ache in his heart. Maybe even lighting a candle on Thorin’s tomb might help to bring him some peace. Bilbo made the decision to return to Erebor and whatever fate awaited him.

                                          


	2. Beorn And Little Bunny

**2\. Beorn and Little Bunny**

Bilbo set out on his journey back to the mountains before the sun was up. Letting his senses guide him now he hardly remembered the way. So consumed with taking in every moment, every word. Still amazed Thorin never caught him staring at the way his dark hair shone in the sunlight, the twitch of muscle in the solid sinews of his body when he dismounted. The perfect view of his arse when Bilbo was lucky enough to get trapped behind Thorin’s pony as they plodded up and down the many winding hills leading them away from The Shire.

He packed light, remembering how hard it was to climb a mountain laden down with a shedload of so-called essentials that actually turned out to be dead weight. He folded up the mithril shirt Thorin had given him with care, before reverently consigning it to his satchel. There was no need to wear it openly now, convinced the only danger he was likely to meet along the road was falling into a bramble bush (or worse still, bumping into one of his least favourite relatives berry picking on the downs). Bilbo managed to make it safely past the borders of Midgewater Marshes by sundown of the second day. Taking modest lodging in an inn on the Great East Road for the night. Sleep was the last thing on his mind, but his weary body needed rest.

After some sensible consideration, Bilbo plumped for the longer path. He intended to bypass Rivendell completely for fear his heart might long to stay there and heal. It could never be mended without Thorin, but Elrond would likely try anyway. At least a hundred leagues still lay between him and the Ford of Bruinen, so he could worry about that later. Part of Bilbo longed for somewhere to refresh his weakened spirit, a haven of calm peace with tumbling waterfalls and divine music. But most of him refused to disgrace Thorin’s memory or abandon an unspoken promise to honour the king as he deserved. The Company would venerate him with songs and tales of great deeds, but Thorin was never that to Bilbo.

He was - well. Bilbo wasn’t really sure what he was. The hobbit wondered just how much the others had known about his secret desire. Balin didn’t seem a bit surprised Bilbo almost choked on his own tears when he tried to explain how much Thorin had meant to him. His mouth hitched into the same forced smile he graced the old dwarf with at their parting. He couldn’t think about how much it hurt. _Not now_. Bilbo knew he needed to reach the Ford of Carrock before his supplies ran out.

By the sixth day, he had put many miles behind him. His bed had been underneath the stars for the most part, and now he found himself looking up at the Misty Mountains with blank despair. It was madness to attempt such a dangerous climb without the wonderful Bofur to pull him to safety, but he was fresh out of luck. The hobbit shivered, and it wasn’t from the chill breeze winding its way around the cliff edge. He had no option but to go over the top. It would be a cold day in the Underworld before he ventured beneath the Misty Mountains again. Bilbo hadn’t forgotten his rather disturbing encounter with Sméagol, suddenly fingering the golden ring in his pocket at the memory. The creature was so furious with him for taking it, Bilbo had no doubt Gollum would be happy to eat him whole the second he stepped inside.

He was foot sore and fit to drop, but Bilbo soldiered on for hours. Picking his way through the mountain pass. It was windy and miserably cold, but at least the stone giants appeared to have come to an agreement. Bilbo could hear the distant tinkling of small stones as they slid down the many ridges surrounding him on all sides, but definitely no enormous hunks of granite trying to knock seven shades of bedrock off each other. Bilbo slipped and stumbled up the crumbling slopes until he finally reached the heights. He could see the great river Anduin in the valley below spreading out before him to the grass-land beyond the stream. Clambering down as fast as his furry feet could take him. He almost fell in his haste to reach it, clearing the last few yards on his backside with little dignity. Bilbo eventually stood up and brushed himself off.

Then he saw it. Rising from the landscape and cutting through the blue sky like a dagger to his heart. The Carrock, Beorn called it. Bilbo staggered across the ford, in a state of almost complete meltdown by the time he reached the rocky outcrop where Thorin had hugged him. Bilbo stood there for a long time, eyes sparkling with sadness. It couldn’t have been more than a few months ago, but it felt like an eternity without those huge arms around him. The hobbit would have given every last drop of blood in him to have that moment again.

He pulled himself together. Stopping at the edge of a clearing to admire the white clouds hiding mountains sprinkled with snow at their peaks, and bordered by green lands of lush grass. Bilbo cocked his head, listening for the bustle of Beorn’s homestead. Gandalf warned the Company the skin-changer was quick to anger, but Bilbo always found him rather agreeable. Besides, he had very little choice. He was hungry and cold, and the master of the wide wooden halls would likely offer him a generous helping of cream and honey (which Bilbo would gracefully accept). He plodded over long stretches of clover that led down into the valley. How it was still flowering so late in the year was just a testament to Beorn’s love and care.

A distant hum told Bilbo he was close. Hoping he didn’t get stung by giant bees and swell up like a toad before nightfall. He only had one chance to make it to safety in daylight. Beorn in enchanted shape might kill him. Bilbo spotted a neat row of thatched barns, suddenly feeling so relieved and light-headed, he thought he might faint from exhaustion. The scent of pollen-filled air did nothing to help keep his eyes open, and he fell on his face in a nest of purple clover. Several animals carried him inside before he had more stingers in his hide than a deerskin after target practice.

Bilbo woke up on a pile of straw, so tired and heartsore he couldn’t remember how he got there. Slowly opening his eyes to see two deep brown pools staring down at him.

“My little bunny is awake. Good.” Beorn said heartily, poking the hobbit in the tummy with no regard for personal boundaries. “You need fattening up.” Beorn was surprised how thin Bilbo had become since their last meeting. “Come and have some bread and honey with me.”

“Thank you, but I’m not really hungry anymore.” Bilbo pushed himself up on his elbows and attempted a smile. Beorn did little to hide his concern. Maybe a blast of fresh air would bring some colour back to those soft cheeks.

“Come on, let’s take a walk and you can tell me your news.” Bilbo reluctantly got up from a very comfortable bed to follow Beorn outside. It was a long time before the hobbit was ready to admit where he was headed.

“If you must know, I am going back to Erebor.” He confessed. “My reasons are my own.”

“Keep your secrets then, bunny.” Beorn humoured him. “But I have a good ear for a tale or two, and I know I can take you at your word, Master Baggins.”

“Thank you. Maybe you are not such a wicked bear, after all.”

Beorn laughed, long whiskers twitching while they sat together in Winter sunshine.

“Maybe. I will do what I can to help you on your way, little one.”

“You came to my aid once before, I can’t ask you for more.” Bilbo replied, with a sigh.

“Well, I can’t help much beyond the edge of the forest, and you must not go through Mirkwood again. Fell things creep beneath those trees, and the black river is tainted with a dark enchantment. Do not take that path unless you want to sleep away the rest of your days until you can’t even remember your own name.”

“No, thank you.” Bilbo was surprisingly sincere. He had no desire to repeat such an unpleasant experience. “But there is no other way.”

“These lands are protected from goblins by night, of course. You might make it in three or four days if you’re lucky, but are you sure you want to go back?”

Bilbo suddenly thought about how beautifully Thorin had played his golden harp. Admiring how the king plucked at the strings with deft fingers, despite their girth. He sighed again.

“Yes, Beorn. I’m sure.”

Bilbo was almost too quiet, in spite of the pleasant company and the warm sunlight bathing his upturned face. Beorn was studying him closely. He was silent for a long time before he spoke again. Never having much to say unless it was worth saying.

“You are not the same merry little hobbit I remember.” Beorn offered, the deep roll of his voice vibrating through his chest. Bilbo blinked, but he couldn’t look the skin-changer in the eye.

“No.” Bilbo murmured sadly. “I am not.”

“And now you travel alone.” Beorn prompted, always willing to listen to a good story. Rather deprived of decent entertainment stuck out there in the sticks. “What happened after the battle? The one they call Oakenshield is a brave warrior. I lifted him from the fray before taking out as many goblins as my claws could handle.” Beorn gave Bilbo a dry smile. “He was pierced by countless spears, but still he lived.”

Bilbo eventually glanced up. Beorn was now gazing out across the clover pastures.

“You would grieve then, to know that he is dead.”

“I would grieve, indeed.” Beorn stared at Bilbo in alarm. “I do not care much for Dwarves, but that is a sorry end. I see now why so much sadness lies on you. I knew you cared for him.”

“You did?”

Beorn nodded, slow and deliberate. Settling his broad back against the stone wall. Bilbo heard a low rumble beside him, maybe a laugh and maybe not.

“I might not understand how a hobbit heart works but I have eyes, Master Baggins. I saw you hang on his every word, stand so close to him you might have been stitched together.” Bilbo blushed, hoping Beorn would think his cheeks were tinted red from too much sunshine. “I am sorry you lost the one you loved.”

Bilbo couldn’t speak at all for a long time.

“How did you know that?”

“I am the last of my kind.” Beorn replied. Bilbo’s gaze was drawn to the broken shackle still locked around the huge wrist. It made him feel sick to think someone so proud and mighty should suffer such a fate. “I understand loneliness better than most. I see the emptiness in your eyes.”

“Huh. That obvious, am I?” Bilbo sniffed, but there was no bitterness there. Beorn meant well, even if his delivery needed work.

They sat talking long into the afternoon. Beorn wanted to hear every last detail, and Bilbo was completely spent by the time he finished his story. It was getting late, and he would have to lock Beorn outside in case he fancied a hobbit-sized snack during the night. It was a terrifying thought, despite basking in some semblance of a peace he hadn’t known since Thorin had fallen. Beorn even cajoled him into playing a round of chess while they waited for dusk to fall. Watching white mice scurry hither and yon across the board every time Beorn made a move. It actually made Bilbo feel a little better having another soul to talk to, even though his solitude had been mostly self-inflicted since he lost Thorin.

Bilbo fell asleep as soon as the door was bolted shut, knowing he would have to leave at dawn before all courage failed him. Beorn found him in the garden after breakfast, scrutinizing a tattered map while he picked out the forest path. This time he intended to stay on it. The thought of going anywhere near those dark trees again filled him with dread.

“What is that? In your hand.” Beorn could see Bilbo fiddling with something while he steeled himself for Mirkwood.

“It’s nothing.” Bilbo gasped, suddenly catapulted back to a time when the king had asked him the same. “I picked it up in your garden. I meant to plant it, but I couldn’t seem to part with it. I wasn’t stealing it, you understand.” The hobbit added quickly.

Bilbo showed Beorn the battered acorn he once intended to sow in the garden at Bag End. He almost left it behind in the fertile soil of Dale, but something always stopped him. He wanted to see it grow and remember the adventure, but that was when Thorin lived. Memory was not what his heart desired.

“You found that last time you passed this way?” Beorn asked, amazed it was still intact after all the bumping around it must have done in his pocket.

“Yes. It reminds me of Thorin.” Beorn suspected everything reminded Bilbo of Thorin. He didn’t bother to point it out. “But it _is_ yours, really. I suppose I should return it.” The hobbit offered out his hand, round acorn nestled in the dip of his palm.

“Keep it, little bunny.” Beorn smiled down at him, curling the hobbit’s tiny fingers around the seed with a gentleness not many got to see. “Maybe one day you will have the heart to plant it.”

 


	3. Cruel Illusions

**3\. Cruel Illusions**

Bilbo took one last glance around the lively farmstead, admiring random stacks of straw hives that were big enough to house a hobbit. Cherishing the morning sunlight filtering through the leaves and casting delicate patterns on the ground. It could almost pass for Summer again, and the memory of Thorin refused to fade away. Beorn was suddenly standing close by his side. Bilbo felt a comforting hand rest heavily on his shoulder.

“You must not live forever in the past. It will bind to your heart and never let you move on.”

“I don’t want to move on.” Bilbo replied, apologising with his eyes while he slipped the acorn back inside his pocket. “My life means nothing without him.”

So much wretched hopelessness only fed Beorn’s unease. Nothing good could come from holding on to a love that would never return, but he kept quiet. Those words would be hateful and completely pointless. Bilbo was in too deep.

“Then let us go and pack you up good and proper.” Beorn patted him on the back before steering the hobbit inside again. Bilbo stuffed his satchel with supplies until it was fit to split apart at the seams. The hobbit wished he could have stayed there in happier times. Beorn agreed to walk part of the way with him until they reached the edge of his land. Bilbo was sad to leave the house of Beorn, but his determination to honour Thorin always drove him forward. No amount of good food and enjoyable company could steer him from his path. “Are you still resolved to go?” Beorn would have been more than happy to keep his unusual house guest just a little longer, but he had no intention of trying to change Bilbo’s mind. His eyes were already trained on the dark forest.

“I am.” Bilbo nodded, finally pulling his gaze away from the shadow of Mirkwood. Beorn didn’t need an explanation, but the hobbit gave him one anyway. “I don’t expect anyone to understand, but I _have_ to go. I want to see the mountain again.”

“No one else has the right to make that choice for you. If you believe it will bring you some peace, then I wish you all the luck in the world and safe journey, little master.”

“Thank you, Beorn. For everything.” Bilbo’s mushy smile of gratitude soon froze in place when a familiar sound sent a cold blast of fear through his veins. A mournful howl in the distance. A cry he heard many times before when he travelled with the dwarves. Bilbo had almost forgotten about the countless dangers that waited for him in the dark places beyond his home.

“Go now, while you have the light.” Beorn urged him. “I will keep watch tonight.”

Bilbo thanked the skin-changer again before he finally turned away from the safety of Beorn’s protection, and set off up the trail towards the Old Forest Road.

The farm was well and truly behind him when Bilbo finally stopped to get his bearings, soon humming a familiar tune in his head while he tramped on. The dwarves had chanted the song of Durin's Awakening after leaving Rivendell, reminded of the tribute the elves honoured the Company with before their parting to give them hope and courage. Elrond’s idea, most likely. Beorn touched a raw nerve when they talked of Thorin. The hobbit was always thinking about what he had lost, aimlessly making up his own lines to take his mind off the many leagues still before him.

_No harp is wrung, no hammer falls. The darkness dwells in Durin's halls._

_There lies my king in tomb so deep. Till Thorin wakes again from sleep._

Bilbo suddenly choked out a broken gasp. Thorin wouldn’t wake. Never again. He had to stop himself from falling to his knees in the dust and curling up in a little ball until the pain in his heart melted away.

Bilbo eventually found himself standing at the entrance to Mirkwood, surrounded by decaying leaves now painted in many shades by the changing seasons. Hanging limply from twisted branches that marked the Elven gate and the borders of the once great Greenwood. Dark paths now choked by thorny tendrils. Spawned by a sickness that threatened to corrupt anyone who dared venture inside. Bilbo took a deep breath, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword like he expected some unseen monster to leap out any minute. The hobbit ducked under archways of tangled trees, seed pods dancing above his head like feathery stars to guide his way until he reached the broken bridge. Bilbo clambered over the slippery vines again, trusting them to bear him up while he stared mindlessly into still enchanted waters. Bilbo thought he heard Thorin’s voice on the air like a siren tempting him astray. His true love calling him home. This time he forced the illusions away. It was just a cruel dream.

By the second day, Bilbo was cutting through the denser shade of trees. So determined to stay on the path, he slept the first night under a moonlit sky. Wrapped so tightly in his little bedroll he looked like part of the forest floor. Bilbo had settled at the edge of the tree line before the sun went down, even when he started shivering with cold. He didn’t dare go any deeper into the dark thickets. Memories of that place sometimes played behind his eyes when he closed them. Still haunted by horrors of the first time he made the mistake of entering Mirkwood. Being grabbed by eight legs all at the same time poked him in places he didn’t even want to think about. He was spitting out bits of webbing for hours.

Bilbo remembered how sick the forest felt, but he never thought the Greenwood would seem so empty. The hobbit expected to bump into an elf or two at least, but it was so quiet he could hear every stirring in the undergrowth. Every rustle of falling leaves above his head. Bilbo suddenly stilled. His heart pounding at the haunting echo of a call he hoped was left behind on the meadow. It actually seemed to be getting closer. Winter morning fog hovered over the ground like a treacherous cloud threatening to make him trip over his own feet in his haste to run away. Apprehension quickly exploding into blind panic when a menacing growl spilled from a dense patch of leaves beyond the clearing. Bilbo was terrified, biting back a little sob of fear when he spotted two piercing eyes staring at him through the dim light. Bilbo saw a wolf slowly creep out of the shadows in front of him, circling easy prey like it was picking out the softest spot to sink those sharp fangs into. Bilbo spun around in tiny circles in case he got jumped from behind and dragged into the forest, never to be seen again. Bilbo suddenly remembered the ring. The hobbit planned to sneak past, clinging to the hope any self-respecting predator could see he wouldn’t make more than a mouthful. He fumbled to retrieve it, but he wasn’t quick enough.

“Oh, save me!” Bilbo cried, thrusting Sting out in front of him like a shiny shield (with no idea who he was asking). Not for the first time, Bilbo wished he had put on the mithril shirt still stowed away in his back pack. He was all alone. Beorn wouldn’t transform again until sunset, and that was still a long way off. A hobbit wasn’t built for combat, but he had fought so hard to protect Thorin after Azog knocked him senseless. Bilbo heard himself whimper. His sword arm felt pitifully weak without the burning motivation of trying to save the dwarf he loved. The animal pounced before Bilbo knew what hit him. Stabbing and slashing at empty air until his sword finally found its mark. Bilbo managed to get a couple of jabs in before he felt something take a deep bite out of his side. He fell backwards and tumbled down a hillock. Landing in a disorderly heap at the bottom.

Bilbo eventually opened his eyes. _He was alive at least_. Even the voice in his head seemed surprised about that. He dragged his battered body up, thanking his lucky stars he was only attacked by a half-starved wolf cast from its pack rather than one of those horrible Warg things. Hobbit sense soon kicked in. Bilbo was more worried about the damn thing getting infected than the fact he already lost a stupid amount of blood. He patched up the bite as best he could, stifling a moan of pain when he pressed too hard. Bilbo scrubbed at his face, wiping Sting free of a sticky mess of fur and drying blood on a tuft of wilting grass. He needed to move on before word got around there was a defenceless little halfling just waiting to be eaten.

Bilbo could hear the blissful sound of running water away in the distance. He scampered up the path in his desperation to leave the forest behind, managing to cross it in record time with a hungry beast on his tail. The relief was indescribable. To breathe the wholesome air again, let a fresh breeze caress his face when he finally reached the eastern border. Bilbo practically threw himself into the river, biting his lip in agony while he bathed the wound in the cool waters of Celduin. Imposing shadow of the Lonely Mountain willing him on. Bilbo could scent a sudden change in the air. Snowflakes cascading from a grey sky like the silent tears of Nienna. Damp clothes and a deep bite certainly not helping to improve his mood. Bilbo was injured and weak, stumbling on by sheer determination alone. Every torturous step taking him closer to Thorin, and the bittersweet hope of gazing on his perfect face again now he rested in everlasting sleep. Bilbo never felt so desolate.

He felt his spirits lift a little as the snow-capped peak loomed ever closer. Standing on the overlook again, he could see the valley of Dale spreading out before him like a green blanket dotted with fresh flurries. It was probably a stupid idea to go back when the year was failing but his heart wouldn’t wait for Spring. Bilbo caught sight of the entrance to Erebor in the distance, not even surprised how easily his feet had led him back to the Lonely Mountain. Memories of the quest kept him going on the road, but standing there now he just felt sad. Forcing away the cold, hard truth. Believing he would never know if the king might have loved him in return. Bilbo sighed, and hitched up his pack. Thorin probably never gave him a second glance when it came to matters of the heart. Reclaiming Erebor and helping his people had always been the most pressing task. Their tale Thorin sang with passion that fateful night in Bag End had seduced the hobbit. Stirred his sense of adventure and sent him running out of his door without so much as a handkerchief. Always trying to do right by the handful of wayward dwarves he had grown to love.

Bilbo was trembling by the time he reached the doorway. Strategically putting it down to the bitter cold and the wound in his side. It throbbed like his very skin was on fire. Bilbo’s gaze was drawn ever upwards to the high stone wall where he once fled in terror from Thorin’s wrath. Squinting in the bright glare of sunlight where it bounced off carved turrets that seemed to touch the sky. Bilbo blinked, rubbing at his eyes to clear the haze. It was still there - a lone figure slowly pacing the ramparts, looking down over his lands with pride. Blue eyes scanned the horizon, over Long Lake and the ruins of Esgaroth until they finally came to rest on a dusty little object standing rigid with shock. Staring up at the king while his entire body heaved with sobs.

 _Thorin_.

Bilbo’s eyes stung with tears at the impossible dream. Maybe a final wish for all eternity or a cruel illusion come to tempt him into madness. He gazed up in disbelief, pulse pounding like a mattock on stone while the blood slowly turned to ice in his veins. So happy and terrified at the same time, he thought his heart might burst open right there. Then he stopped breathing altogether and promptly passed out at the gate.


	4. Hope

**4\. Hope**

“Master Baggins?” The sound called Bilbo back to consciousness. He awoke to someone hovering over him, misty world shifting in and out of focus while a dwarf blurred into view. Concern just as evident in his voice as the deep lines around his mouth. The grey eyes were suddenly smiling. “Up you get.” Dori tried again, fussing over Bilbo like a sick pet while he resisted the desire to throw up. _Thorin_. “I made you a nice cup of chamomile.”

Bilbo groaned when another set of hands belonging to someone he couldn’t see pulled at his shoulders. _Tea. Yes, tea would be nice_. He thought absently. At least it might settle a stomach that was now trying to turn itself inside out.

“Are you alright?” How he had missed the kind voice of his friend. Bofur had hauled him up by the bracers when he feared the hobbit wouldn’t be able to manage sitting up on his own.

“Yes, thank you.” Bilbo replied politely, twisting his fingers together in his lap while his brain struggled to catch up with the vision seared behind his eyes. “I just went a bit dizzy. I thought I saw - ” He couldn’t even force out the king’s name. Both hands were still shaking, every twitching nerve on edge. He must have been hallucinating, long journey and cutting down to only five meals a day finally taking its toll. Dori seemed to have developed psychic powers in Bilbo’s absence from the mountain and filled up his tea cup again before the hobbit started swaying. He would probably need something a bit stronger when he learned the truth. “I thought – no, it can’t have been.” Bilbo pressed his fingers into both temples to try and shift an image of the dead king from his mind.

“What happened to you?” Balin suddenly appeared at his side, though Bilbo suspected he had been there the whole time. He didn’t know where to start. Balin tried to hide his concern behind the hushed whisper that made Bilbo’s heart stop for the second time in as many hours. “He looks terrible. Someone should tell Thorin.” Bofur jumped when Bilbo’s cup hit the flagstones and smashed into a hundred pieces. The pink mouth had dropped open with a gasp, echoing in the silence while every dwarf in the kitchen stared at him in alarm. Balin reached forward to hold the shaking halfling steady. “I think he’s going to - ” The last word faded away when Bilbo saw the ground coming up to meet him again. “Oh dear.”

Thorin marched back inside when he saw all the commotion down below. Cursing the strange creature at the gate for disturbing his watch. All he could see from his perch on the battlements was a few dwarves rush out of the mountain. Someone lifted the limp body over one shoulder and carried it inside. Thorin was still suspicious of anyone who came so close to Erebor without an invitation. A fragile peace had settled over the valley since the battle was won, but there were many spies in the wild just waiting for an opportunity to see him fall. The king had barely survived, growing sickness leaving him confused and paranoid. The loyalty of the Company never wavered, but they still tiptoed around him like Elves near a sleeping dragon.

Bilbo opened his eyes, not sure if he was still alive. That question soon answered when the pain hit. He reached down to check the bite, fingers probing at a wet patch of linen where his shirt had stuck to the leaking wound. Amber light slowly filled the corners of his vision. He was staring up at a canopy of grey rock.

“You seem to be making a habit of being unconscious.” Bofur was smiling down at him, a warm and beautiful thing that made Bilbo want to hug him. “Give us a bit of warning if you’re thinking of knocking yourself out again.” Bilbo was so happy to see him, he reached up and grabbed that ridiculous hat in both hands to pull his friend into his arms. Bofur sighed against him. They held on to each other for a long time. When Bilbo finally released him, the dwarf could see his eyes were wet with tears.

“Please, Bofur, tell me the truth. Thorin? Is he - ” Bilbo’s voice was tripping over the lump in his throat. “Does he live?”

“Aye.” Bofur frowned. “Don’t get me wrong, it was touch and go for a while. We thought that bastard Azog got him, but Thorin’s strong.” His friend added, with no small sense of pride. “He waited so long to take back the mountain. No way he was going to miss out on all the glory.” Bofur grinned, and Bilbo listened in stunned silence. Not that his mouth would have been able to form anything coherent anyway. Tempted to ask if the king had mentioned him at all. Just up and disappearing before he woke up must have felt like a terrible betrayal. Not to mention downright rude. “We didn’t think you would forget that stupid business with the Arkenstone.” Bofur whistled through his teeth. “Thought you must have took tail after what he did to you. None of us blamed you for wanting to be somewhere else.”

“But, I didn’t!” Bilbo protested, realising the others knew nothing about their last meeting. After Thorin had fallen, he was whisked away to The Shire to mourn all alone. Bofur looked even more confused, grin dropping down into a pout.

“Why did you leave then?” The pain in his broken voice made the guilt almost unbearable. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“Bofur.” Bilbo tried to smile, a poor exchange for all the trouble he caused. “I didn’t want to go. Gandalf sent me away before I had a chance to blink. I’m so sorry.”

The wizard didn’t tell Bilbo the king was alive – simply because he didn’t know. After Erebor was reclaimed, Gandalf had other business on the road that couldn’t wait. His encounter with Radagast and news of the Necromancer had set him to wondering. It always bothered him how Bilbo got through the Misty Mountains without so much as a scratch. _All good stories deserve embellishment_. Gandalf had said. The hobbit often wondered if the tale he was in would ever be retold around a fireside. Now he needed to know what strange fate had brought back the love Bilbo thought he lost. The hobbit looked so desperately sad, Bofur wanted to hug him again.

“Bless me, Bilbo. You got nothing to be sorry for.” He stammered. “I should be the one saying sorry. You were just trying to save him.” Bofur added. “I hope one day you can forgive us.” Bilbo was speechless. That was not what he expected at all.

“It’s true, Bilbo.” Dori agreed sheepishly. “We did you a terrible wrong.”

“It’s already forgiven.” Bilbo smiled. “I missed you all so much.” There was another tell-tale sparkle in his eyes, so Balin intervened before he had to mop up a pile of very emotional hobbit.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and find a room to your liking.”

“Wait - where’s Thorin?” Bilbo panicked, not sure he was ready to gaze on all that majesty after such an exhausting day.

“In the treasure hall, I suppose.” The dwarf sniffed. “He usually is.”

That wasn’t very encouraging, but Bilbo tried his best to pretend that didn’t scare him green. He opened his mouth to speak again, when Dwalin suddenly appeared in a flurry of fur and confusion. Not bothering to hide his annoyance that the halfling had apparently returned - with some other dark purpose to ensnare the king, no doubt. He never said a word in greeting and turned on his heel with a grunt.

“I don’t think your brother is very pleased to see me. He believes I was disloyal.” Bilbo shook Balin off when the dwarf tried to protest. “That I deceived Thorin on purpose.”

Balin gazed back with his silver brows twitching.

“Don’t mind him, lad. None of us expected you to return. He’ll be fine when the shock wears off.” Balin patted Bilbo on the shoulder, giving it a little squeeze to show the hobbit how much he had missed him. “I don’t suppose he has an opinion in the matter one way or another. Dwalin serves the king. It’s his duty to protect him from any threat, no matter how small.” Balin added, smiling at the hobbit with those kind eyes.

“A threat?” Bilbo gasped, completely horrified. He clutched one scrunched up hand to his chest. “Me? I would never hurt Thorin.”

“I know that, Bilbo. I don’t believe it is the king’s safety he worries about. This is about Thorin’s ability to rule Erebor without a - ” Balin wasn’t sure how to put it without insulting the poor little fellow. “Distraction.” As if ceaselessly pacing across the top of all that treasure without sleeping wasn’t enough to keep Thorin from his people.

Bilbo was astonished he might ever be considered a threat, but the dwarf’s hints hadn’t landed on the points of deaf ears. _So - he was a distraction, was he?_   Bilbo later spent most of the afternoon wondering exactly how he could test that out.

The hobbit looked around in wonderment at many smiling faces, flinching in pain when Bofur tried to pull him to his feet. He had no intention of telling anyone about the bite. _I would hate to be a bother when they all seem so pleased to see me. Except Dwalin, of course_. Bilbo wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if that particular dwarf hoped he would end up as dragon chow.

“How is he?” Bilbo asked quietly. Thorin had begged for forgiveness when he thought he was dying, but he supposed none of the other dwarves knew about that. There was no way he could ask outright. Bilbo had just left him there without a word of explanation, and wouldn’t blame the king if he never wanted to see him again. He felt another wave of nausea turn his stomach. Balin cringed. Bilbo was his friend. He didn’t deserve to be lied to.

“He, er… he’s not been well, Bilbo. The dragon, you know.” Balin felt he should apologise for encouraging Thorin to retake the mountain. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. “It sat on that treasure a long time.” The hobbit suddenly remembered the private talk they once had in the store room. Balin’s eyes had been shining with tears for his one true king. The dwarf always feared possession of the Arkenstone would make Thorin sick, and now it looked like he might have been right. Bilbo wished he’d just thrown that bloody thing in the river when he had the chance, but rivers and things of power tended to end up bringing on a mountain load of trouble. The hobbit didn’t yet know the long, sorry history of the One Ring he picked up in Gollum’s cave. “We thought it would all be over when the stone was set back above the throne.”

“But?” Bilbo prompted. Balin shook his head.

“If anything, he’s worse. Thorin wouldn’t let the smiths near it. He keeps it in a chest by his bed.” Since Bilbo mysteriously disappeared, the king needed something else to focus his attention on. Lost memories were still hit and miss, but Thorin felt like there was a hole inside him and he didn’t know why.

“Oh dear.” Bilbo felt horrible, cursing his own stupidity for staying in The Shire so long. Maybe he could have done something. Saved the king from himself. Bilbo made a secret promise to the Goddess to set things right.

Master Baggins had tried so hard to impress Thorin during their journey through Middle-earth. Bilbo never forgot how miserable he felt drenched in rain and cowering on a cliff edge, or the look of pitying despair that almost incinerated him on the spot. He just wanted the king to like him. Bilbo had pinned his back against the rock face and prayed Bofur would grab him by the suspenders if he even breathed heavy. Thorin had sent him so many mixed messages, and Bilbo being the modest little hobbit that he was, assumed there was nothing more to it than to make sure his thief survived long enough to be useful.

 _He’s been lost ever since he left home_.

Bilbo closed his eyes in pain. But Thorin had saved his life at the risk of his own. Why would he care if he didn’t think the halfling should even be there? Bilbo had fallen silent, and Balin guessed he had drifted off to some isolated space in his imagination.

“Thorin said I shouldn’t have gone with you, and sometimes I think he was right.” Bilbo sighed. Balin ignored the burning guilt reflected in his eyes. “Maybe I did make it worse.”

“Bilbo.” Balin said softly. “The king had to be careful. He believed the fate of the quest and our people were his responsibility. Thorin couldn’t let his heart make those decisions for him. I never doubted how important you were to him, and not just because he needed a burglar.” Bilbo had seen the burden of duty resting on those broad shoulders like a second mantle. Thorin’s body sometimes bowing from the weight of it.

“Really?” Bilbo asked in a whisper. Balin nodded.

“He was scared to death when we ran into those bloody stone giants.” Thorin had stood frozen in time. Crying out in horror when the mountains crashed together and Durin’s heirs disappeared down a crevasse. “He was terrified, and it wasn’t just for the boys.” The old dwarf patted Bilbo’s hand. “I know my king, and I have never seen him look so afraid. He thought he lost you.”

“Balin?” Bilbo breathed, daring to believe for the first time since Thorin stepped over the threshold of Bag End that the king might one day be his. “I need to see him.”


	5. Never Laugh At Live Dragons

**5\. Never Laugh At Live Dragons**

Thorin was pacing the vaults beneath the mountain like a Dwarf possessed. Haunting clink of shifting metal the only sound in the huge chamber. Precious stones slipping under his feet until jewels and coins were running down in tiny golden rivers to join the ocean of gems covering the floor. Bilbo watched him from a distance, eyes wide and full of concern. The hold on his heart had never truly gone. Bilbo shuddered at the memory of his terrifying conversation with Smaug. The dragon had been tempted to let the hobbit take the Arkenstone from the treasure hoard just for the sheer pleasure of watching it corrupt Thorin’s heart and drive him mad. Bilbo felt sick again, droplets of sweat sticking long strands of hair to his forehead.

The king was drawn back inside when he passed a line of high archways on his way to investigate the unexpected visitor. Curiosity soon abandoned when Thorin slid by the cavern, tempted to paw over his prize again. Some of the other dwarves let the hobbit descend the stairs while Bifur gave him a crash course in Iglishmêk, showing Bilbo the sign for a safe word in case he suddenly needed rescuing. They all loved Thorin, but sometimes he was impossible. It wasn’t very encouraging (to say the least) and Bilbo tiptoed down the long winding staircase with more caution than was really necessary. Thorin was lost to his senses. Admiring the shine of countless coins spreading out in every direction. Bilbo remembered how he felt looking on so much gold for the first time when a large, bad-tempered beast had been protecting his treasure. Not much had changed, apparently.

Bilbo wasn’t ready. He took one last, lingering look at his beloved before slipping quietly away and heading back to the kitchens to hide. Thorin had sensed a presence in the shadows, heard the delicate pad of light footsteps fade away behind him. Constantly on edge in case anyone should sneak down to try and steal so much as a single coin. Bilbo was furious with himself for bottling it and running away. Scared what the king would think of him after just up and disappearing without so much as a by your leave. He supposed ignorance was bliss compared to the disappointment he might have seen in those bright blue eyes. Bilbo had already embraced his love for Thorin, but would never forgive himself if he had hurt him.

When Gandalf left Dol Guldur, he decided to make a small detour to Hobbiton. Just to make sure Bilbo was alright, though he sincerely doubted it. Gandalf was never in the same loop as the rest of the Company about the budding romance between the king and his little burglar, but he worried enough for all of them. Bilbo was an emotional wreck when he found him on Ravenhill, and Gandalf made sure he provided a speedy exit before Azog finished him off. The wizard presumed Thorin would be safely interred in a tomb under the Lonely Mountain by now, so that was that. Bilbo would heal – eventually. He felt very responsible for dragging the poor hobbit into such a terrible mess in the first place. The least he could do was check in on him. It took him nearly a week to reach the borders of The Shire. It was almost midnight on the sixth day when he walked wearily over The Hill. Bag End was shrouded in darkness. The wizard examined a note pinned to the door, not so politely informing any would-be squatters that possession isn’t actually nine tenths of the law. Gandalf was surprised Bilbo hit the road again so soon, but had no doubt who he was drawn back to. Dead or otherwise.

Gandalf decided to turn East instead and head for Imladris. Bilbo couldn’t be too far ahead, and probably made a stop there himself. The wizard knew how much he wanted to see the sparkling pools and fountains again, and Elrond made it clear to the little halfling he would always be welcome.

The line of Durin had ever seemed plagued by a dark curse. Note to the wise : when once great rulers are taken by a sickness of the mind, bad things will follow. Gandalf had unwittingly sent the king to his death, and the guilt was crushing. He had begged the dwarves to meet him on the overlook before the slopes of Erebor, warning Thorin not to enter the mountain without him. _How prophetic those words had come to be_. The wizard thought sadly, suddenly drawn away from dark memories when he saw Elrond walking out to greet him. Delicate circlet of wrought silver twinkling in the moonlight. Gandalf watched many elves going about their business inside the perfectly carved halls. Never really sure what the fair folk did all day when they weren’t polishing diamonds or putting broken swords back together. He didn’t ask. The need to speak with the Half-elf in private was written all over his face. Elrond invited the wizard to walk with him on the terrace, so they could talk in secret. Gandalf seemed very troubled.

“As pleased as I am to see you again, I suspect this is not a social call.” Elrond pressed Gandalf for an explanation once he was certain they could not be overheard.

“It never is.” The wizard replied. “I come for news. My path led me elsewhere these past few weeks, but now I am anxious to learn what happened to the treasure under the mountain after the battle was decided. Has work begun on rebuilding Dale and the city on the lake?”

“I believe so.” Elrond seemed puzzled by the question. “I think the dwarves will finally honour their debt to Bard and his people.”

“Dwarves and their gold are seldom parted, but I hoped it was settled and their minds were not swayed by the same sickness that took Thrór.”

“I knew him in his youth.” Elrond said thoughtfully. “I remember when he made that map and carved the secret door before the shadow of delusion slipped over him. It was a great pity someone of such proud heritage should fall so deeply.”

“Indeed.” Gandalf sighed. “Thorin’s death was also a terrible loss to that line.”

“His death?” Elrond frowned. “You are mistaken, my friend. He has taken back the rule of Erebor.”

“What?” Gandalf was even more afraid for Bilbo once he heard the King under the Mountain was surprisingly alive and well. “But, how?” The wizard asked, in amazement. “He was mortally wounded. No one could have survived that.”

“I do not know.”

Gandalf leaned on his staff while it sunk in. He looked even more stern than usual, and that was up against some pretty serious competition.

“I fear I may have made a grave error in judgement. So, that _is_ where Master Baggins is headed.”

“The halfling?” Elrond murmured softly. “What has he got to do with it?”

“Everything, I think. He grew very fond of Thorin.”

“That explains much. He was seen passing by the borders not a few nights ago.”

Gandalf had no idea what Thorin would do to Bilbo once he learned of his return.

“I fear they did not part in friendship, unless they spoke before the end. I was on Ravenhill when I heard the king had fallen. I asked the Lord of the Eagles to carry Bilbo back to safety and spare him the grief of Thorin’s passing. Maybe I was too late. I must speak with him.”

“Be careful.” Elrond warned. “A strain of madness runs deep in that family, Mithrandir, and Thorin is no wizard’s pupil. Who knows what you will find inside that mountain.” Suddenly, Bilbo’s safety was paramount.

“I need a steed, Elrond. I have never had need of such haste.” Gandalf would have some explaining to do if it was true the king was alive, not knowing Thorin and Bilbo would soon find each other through the darkness. “Send word to your people. I will ride to Erebor for counsel. It is not more than two days' journey, and then - ” Gandalf said quietly. “We shall see what we shall see.”

Balin could tell how upset Bilbo was when he slumped against the wall, profound dejection making his mouth dip down at both corners.

“What happened?”

Bilbo felt ashamed. There was so much he wanted to tell the king, but all of it was inexplicably lodged behind a ball of fear that stole away his voice.

“I don’t know what to say to him.” The hobbit replied miserably, deciding to test the turbulent waters before he threw himself all in without a life line. “Has he asked about me?” Bilbo wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Maybe then he could convince his lonely heart the king had missed him. Hope is a fickle thing. Balin gave the back of Bilbo's hand another sympathetic pat.

“No, Bilbo. Not yet.” The hobbit was still scared Thorin wanted nothing more to do with him. Not being very successful at trying to ignore how much that hurt. The dwarves hadn’t yet told the king his burglar had popped back up like a frightened rabbit. Many in their Company believed Thorin had been slain on the field of battle before he staggered back to the mountain with fresh blood surging through his veins. Dwarves were made to endure, and they lived long. Far beyond the reach of Men, but not forever. There was something very unnatural about it, but Balin decided to hold his concern locked away behind his beard. The old dwarf was an expert at keeping secrets. Mahâl knows, he had enough practice. Accidentally stumbling on many private moments in the baths when Thorin was a young Dwarf prince with no interest in taking a consort. Balin knew the king had finally found his One on a beautifully clear night in April. He just didn’t realise it yet. “We are strong, and very stubborn.” Balin said slowly. “Dwarves can take pain and hurt better than most. We withstand many a stroke before we fall, but the king was sorely wounded. He needs some time to heal.”

They both remembered seeing Thorin’s body laid out in death before Bilbo was dragged away by Gandalf. Dwarf and hobbit once believing the king was dead, and that chance meeting was their last goodbye before Bilbo was carried to safety. Balin never spoke of it. Thorin had been hurt many times in battle, and he always pulled through but even in Erebor there was a ripple of fear at the haunting nothingness behind his eyes. Balin was worried sick about him.

“Yes, and loyal to a fault.” Bilbo sighed. Balin had to force his mouth to stay shut. Bilbo had betrayed that loyalty in the worst way possible, no matter how pure his intentions had been. Balin almost cracked when he saw the hobbit staring at the space between his feet as if the whole weight of Arda lay on his shoulders. Trying to secure his peace with Thorin was a decision only Bilbo could make when he was ready.

“Aye, that we are. Don’t give up on Thorin just yet.” Balin smiled. As if that was ever a possibility when the hobbit had risked life and limb (again) to come back to him. “And don’t take it personally.” Balin tried helpfully. “He hasn’t been himself for a while now. Says very little and broods a lot.” Balin suspected Thorin couldn’t really ask about much of anything since most of his memory seemed to have forsaken him. “He can’t remember much beyond the return of the stone.”

“How did he get the Arkenstone back?”

“Bard intended to honour the king in his tomb.” Bilbo paled at how readily everyone seemed to accept Thorin must have somehow cheated death, but he didn’t have time for another queer fit. They were disturbed by Ori, clutching a message from Rivendell that had just been deposited by a very accommodating raven. Balin read it with a frown. Some of The Free Peoples would meet the following day and decide a pact. It didn’t appear to be optional. Balin knew Thorin wouldn’t go for the idea at all, and scuttled off to find him. Cursing and muttering until he eventually disappeared from view. The king had no interest in holding a stupid council when he had more important things to obsess over but Thorin reluctantly agreed after much prodding from Balin. The sickness seemed to come and go in waves like a shifting tide, ebbing ever closer until the last trace of sanity was completely washed away. Somewhere inside that dark mind, Thorin thought to appease those who wanted to interfere. Eager to remove unnecessary distractions as soon as possible so he could get back to moping.

Bilbo was left alone with the scribe, who looked disturbingly happy to see him.

“I’m so glad you’re back, Bilbo.” Ori beamed. “Have you spoken to Thorin yet?”

“No.” Bilbo whispered. “I’ll talk to him in the morning.” He might have stopped shaking by then, despite the fact things looked about as hopeless as a frost in Spring. Thorin didn’t need to be pestered when he was lost to something Bilbo believed shone much more brightly than a desperate little halfling. The hobbit hardly dared to hope what that fateful day would bring but he couldn’t hide forever. “I promise.”


	6. Shadowheart

**6\. Shadowheart**

A new dawn brought a bright morning. Tiny specks on the horizon growing ever closer for a meeting of many races. The Council of Erebor, Gandalf called it. Bilbo watched them approach from his terrace, chin resting heavily in his hands. Balin had given him one of the best rooms they could spare. It wasn’t a Hobbit hole, but it was close enough to make Bilbo comfortable. A modest chamber hewn from the side of the mountain. It had a small window to let in the occasional chink of sunlight, and a decent view of the green valley below. Most of the space was dominated by a soft bed covered with silky furs. Not that it mattered. Bilbo had no intention of being impolite, but he didn’t sleep a wink. Holding both eyes open by sheer willpower alone while he watched the proverbial gathering of clouds just before they burst.

There was much to decide, and the wizard had already sent word to people in the surrounding lands that they should come to the Lonely Mountain for counsel. Most arrived with the secret hope of claiming a portion of the great treasure long since abandoned. Only the memory of Smaug’s dominion was still fresh in their minds. Bard himself was invited in honour of being the dragon slayer. A name he didn’t care for at all.

Gandalf had no time to greet Bilbo properly before they gathered in the wide hall. It took the wizard everything he had to hide his alarm when he first looked on the king again. There was a cloak of inky darkness wrapped around his spirit. An imprint not from the world of the living buried inside his soul that only one of the Istari could see. Just clinging on to a life he was supposed to leave behind. A cold shadow laying over Thorin’s heart like black smoke. Reminding the wizard of a forgotten legend passed down from long ago. A prophecy the Eldar brought from Cuiviénen when the Elves first awoke under the starlight.

In ancient Quenya the name inspired fear in all who heard it. _Huinë-enda_. A Shadowheart. Some desperate soul trading the very essence of their heart for another chance at life until that debt was paid. A damaged body harbouring a fractured mind that could so easily be broken. Gandalf once warned the dwarf his pride would be his downfall, and he was right.

Bilbo still hadn’t found the courage to speak with Thorin. Gandalf was desperate to talk to the hobbit alone, but the king was already waiting in the throne room. Bilbo was terrified of what he might find in there, but he tagged along anyway. He felt sick to his stomach when he saw Thorin again, ducking inside the wizard’s robe in case he suddenly needed holding up. The hobbit slinked in carefully, attached to Gandalf’s cloak tails and trembling all the way down to his toes. Thorin was staring at him with empty eyes while he stumbled in behind so many noble guests. Bilbo wouldn’t have been in the least bit surprised if he passed out again.

Bilbo's heart missed a beat when they approached, finally meeting Thorin’s gaze for the first time since he held the king in his arms while he took his last breath. Bilbo longed to run his fingertips over every curve etched on the royal vambrace. Wanted to feel Thorin’s heartbeat against his skin, touch his hair. The silver streaks flowing from his temples were more pronounced than Bilbo remembered, but no less striking in the candlelit hall. Gone were the humble trappings of a wandering dwarf on a quest to reclaim his birth right. The one who held Bilbo’s heart was now King under the Mountain, and he was magnificent.

Blank eyes seemed to look right through him, devoid of any affection. _How could he feel nothing when he had been the sole cause of so much grief and sadness?_   Bilbo was completely overcome by emotion and could restrain himself no longer. He threw his body forward, almost knocking Thorin flying. The king was quick to grab him by the wrists in an attempt to stop the onslaught. Bilbo collapsed against him, pounding both fists on the armoured chest until he had no fight left and dropped limp in the dwarf’s firm grip. Tips of his furry little toes just brushing against the ground.

“Well, that’s a fine way to greet a king.” Thorin had one brow lifted slightly higher than the other. Bilbo wasn’t sure if he was infuriated or slightly amused. It was too much, and the dwarf was so close. The same musky smell of earth, the heat of his body. Many happy memories rushed back in with a vengeance. His senses so completely battered, the poor hobbit felt like a pile of jelly.

“Th – Thorin.” Bilbo sobbed uncontrollably, his head so full of things he wanted to say not a single one of them managed to slip past the chaos. “I thought you – oh, I don’t know what I thought. I don’t know anything anymore.”

Thorin held him fast with a touch Bilbo clung to like his life depended on it. A touch he never hoped to feel again. Once believing his love walked the halls of his fathers in eternal rest. The hobbit’s round eyes were swollen from crying, a faint tint of pink on the tip of his button nose. He had no memory of this little creature, but Thorin still felt something strange stir inside his frozen heart. A long dormant desire to protect. To cherish. To _own_.

“What is it that has caused you so much sorrow?” Thorin asked gently. “If someone in my kingdom has harmed you, I implore you to tell me. I will see they are justly punished.”

“Sorry?” Bilbo gasped, blinking like a sleepy owl in the dim light.

“You are upset.” Thorin’s irritating ability to perpetually state the obvious hadn’t changed a bit. Bilbo wanted to slap that confusion right off his face, until a chilling realisation made his heart stutter in his chest. Thorin didn’t know him.

_No. No - this was worse than any dreadful fate he might have imagined_. Bilbo gazed up at the king in alarm. There was pity there, maybe even sympathy - but no memory. Nothing behind those deep blue eyes. No spark of recognition. _Oh, please. Please remember_. Bilbo willed him.

“Bilbo Baggins!” Gandalf called behind him. “Come here.”

“Sorry. I’m so sorry.” The hobbit mumbled through his tears. He dropped Thorin’s hands and backed away, ashamed to forget his place in front of the Council. Gandalf knew better than to arouse suspicion in such a company. Elrond seemed more troubled by the exchange than anyone else. He knew magic when he saw it, but had no idea how a dwarf could have got his rough hands on something like that.

“You seem to say sorry a lot, little one.” Thorin smiled at him while Bilbo stared back in amazement.

“Sorry.”

This tiny creature seemed impossibly polite, even in the most awkward of situations. Thorin laughed, low and sincere. A sound the hobbit hadn’t heard for so long, he almost forgot how much it warmed his soul. How much he had needed to hear it again. Bilbo was devastated. He once expected to lose many things along the journey. A notch on his belt from starvation. That blessed scrap of cloth that served as a handkerchief. His life, even. But never his heart.

“My apologies, King Thorin.” Gandalf glared at Bilbo. “I shall take him away so you may address your guests.”

“No, it is alright.” Thorin said slowly, still eyeing the hobbit a bit too suspiciously. Like he could see something else smouldering beneath the surface. A memory he couldn’t quite place. “Leave the halfling with me.”

“The halfling has a name!” Bilbo spluttered, suddenly quite put out he was being discussed like his presence there was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. He folded both arms defensively across his chest when he puffed it out in a futile attempt to make himself look bigger. It didn’t work. “I want to stay.”

“Come, then. Sit by me.” Bilbo almost tripped over himself in his haste to be by Thorin’s side. Bugger the humiliation of being a novel curiosity if he could bathe in the security of the king’s shadow, even for a second.

Gandalf asked Thranduil to speak first. The Elvenking graciously returned Orcrist as a gesture of goodwill, but Thorin wouldn’t be bought quite so easily. The Wood-elves were hoping the Company would honour the word of the dead. But the king wasn’t dead, and that agreement was now lying in virtual tatters at the gate of Erebor. The memory of watching them turn away while Smaug crushed many a dwarf beneath his feet and took away their home was forever carved across Thorin’s heart. The one thing Dwarves always make damn sure every Elf knows - they rarely forgive, but they _never_ forget.

Bilbo had listened and watched in patient silence, words in many different tongues washing over him while he drank in Thorin’s presence like a bowl of Ent-draught. Bilbo knew if he ducked away and put the ring on, he could understand all they were saying but that would feel like cheating. Hobbits weren’t sneaky, and he couldn’t care less about the Council now he had a front row seat to admire that impressive profile at close range. It wasn’t only Gandalf who noticed the searching looks that passed between Bilbo and Thorin. Not sure if his sudden appearance had stirred a stolen memory or if the king had a darker purpose in mind. Whatever the reason, Thorin couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the little hobbit for more than a few minutes at a time.

Eventually the Council broke for the afternoon, and many were shown to rooms the other dwarves had prepared for their arrival. Thorin had contributed very little, and Gandalf got up to leave with the rest. Sparing a pitying glance at Bilbo before he bowed farewell to the king.

Gandalf didn’t seem too happy about leaving Bilbo on his own with Thorin after the meeting had finished, but the king’s word in Erebor was law and none dare refuse him. The hobbit was still propped up on the top step of the dais. Now they were alone, he couldn’t hold back anymore and the floodgates were in danger of collapsing. He struggled to stand. Looking so pale and faint, Thorin reached out to hold him steady. Bilbo was so incensed about being forgotten, he burst into tears again. The king was going to set him back on the ground until he calmed down, but something about the damp trails on those soft cheeks made Thorin pause. Impulsively, he lifted Bilbo up until he was curved forward with his curly head tucked snugly under Thorin’s chin. Beads and bristles scratched at his scalp like a fidgety hedgehog, but Bilbo didn’t care. He was finally surrounded by those strong arms again, at the mercy of the King under the Mountain. Thorin never spoke a single word while he carried Bilbo through the halls of Erebor. When they reached the royal chambers, he chose a seat by the hearth and sat down, shaking hobbit still curled up in his lap.

Thorin gently tilted Bilbo’s face up when the sobbing eventually subsided. His soft hair shone like spun gold in the glow of the warm embers still burning in the grate, lips pink as rose quartz and much plumper at the bottom where the tip of Thorin’s thumb was suddenly resting. A touch that set Bilbo’s heart on fire. One of Thorin’s braids brushed against his cheek, a subtle closeness Bilbo craved like a life breath. _Dwarves don’t touch_. That much he remembered, at least. Usually just banging their heads together in a way Bilbo always found rather alarming. Nothing could ever come out of that but a pounding headache and double vision. He shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold outside. Lip trembling shamelessly under the press of a searching fingertip.

“You are a sensitive one.” Thorin smiled down at him, mountain of golden treasure forgotten for a moment. Bilbo knew he was acting like a spoiled child, but the king didn’t seem to mind. No rest and an emotional shredding had worn him down to threads. It didn’t take long for his little body to surrender to exhaustion. Soon falling asleep in the haven of a warm embrace.

Bilbo couldn’t shake the sick feeling in his stomach next morning. Thorin was gone and the fire had burned down to ashes, so he retreated to the sanctuary of the kitchens for something to take the edge off his nausea. Not even Bombur’s legendary breakfast seemed to help, and Bilbo soon found himself wandering back up to the terrace near Thorin’s chambers to seek out a few breaths of fresh air. Everything felt wrong despite the fact he spent most of the previous evening in the arms of the king. Indulged and cosseted while he gazed up at the dwarf from the shelter of his lap. Thorin had shuffled around every so often while Bilbo nestled against his body for comfort. Now he was a very confused and weary little hobbit. Wondering aimlessly if Thorin was restless from the unexpected stirring of desire or the weight of Bilbo’s plump backside pressing against his knees.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qu. Huinë-enda : Shadowheart


	7. Revelations

**7\. Revelations**

Thorin left Bilbo to sleep while the Council reconvened in the Great Hall. The hobbit longed to see him again when he woke up but he was scared. Thorin wasn’t the same dwarf he remembered, so beautifully warm and tender the night before. Bilbo sensed there was something dark simmering beneath the surface that he wanted to stay hidden. Spending another evening playing with the king’s emotions while he was taken by a spell would be like poking a stick at a Fire-drake and hoping it wouldn’t attack. Bilbo already taunted a live dragon just to try and find the Arkenstone for him. He supposed anything else sort of paled in comparison.

The meeting dragged on for another morning. Gandalf sat the last round out and went in search of the hobbit while he had a chance. Elrond had shared his concerns about the Dwarf king before the dawn. Thorin was completely unresponsive, already bored with the proceedings and leaving most of the official stuff to Balin. Every fractured thought now dominated by the soft little halfling waiting upstairs. He only stirred at all when it was the bowman’s turn to address the solemn gathering. Bard was about as comfortable with public speaking as a Dwarf was with shaving, but he did his best to hide the tremble in his voice when he stood before Thorin to state his claim (again). He seemed more interested in finding out how the king was still breathing. Thorin surprisingly had nothing to say on the matter, so Balin spoke for him when Bard once more asked for that which was promised.

“We owe you our gratitude for killing the dragon, but little else.” Balin said diplomatically, only replying with the words he was told to repeat on cue. “We presumed you accepted Thorin Oakenshield as King under the Mountain when you returned the Arkenstone of Thráin.” Thorin glanced up at the mention of the jewel, but his once bright eyes were hollow and lifeless.

“What happened to you?” Bard demanded, casting his gaze over Thorin instead. “Everyone thought you were dead. I only gave that stone back to lay on your chest in the tomb of your fathers. Now we have nothing left to barter with, and your word should still stand.” Even the passion Bard had shown when he spoke about the importance of honour didn’t appear to move Thorin in the slightest. Balin gave the bowman an apologetic smile. Wishing Thorin would just sign the bits of parchment already so they could get rid of everyone, and free up a bit of space in the basement.

Thorin didn’t really know what happened to him. Many beautiful memories were gone, love and light slowly fading from his heart while the shadow gripped tighter. When Thorin awoke after defeating Azog, his shattered body was so close to death, he just shut his eyes and waited for Mahâl to take him. So many regrets swirling around inside his head, melded with the unbearable grief he felt for all those who had fallen in battle. Dwarves fight like men when they are cornered. Fíli and Kíli had defended Thorin with sword and body until they lay dead beside him.

 _Why did they have to die like that?_   How Thorin wished things could have been different. No help had come from Dáin until the end, always insisting the quest was theirs alone. Thorin sighed deep as the last gasp of air left his broken body. Not even his own kin had enough faith in their king to follow him when he needed them most. Only the fealty of his sister-sons had never wavered. A loyalty that sealed their fate to his the second they joined the Company. Thorin just wanted to feel Bilbo’s hand in his again while the eagles flew high above his departing spirit, followed by infinite silence. Bilbo’s tear-streaked face was the last image that pervaded those dark dreams, soft voice the only sound to disturb the eternal sleep of death. His heart longed to go back to his love, his One. A shadow moved closer to Thorin in the darkness. If the king could have a single wish before he left that world forever, it would have been to see the hobbit one last time. Have the chance to tell Bilbo how much he cared for him, how much he yearned for the line of Durin to endure. Thorin resigned himself to cold oblivion…

… and then he was back.

Staring up at the grey sky alone. Flap of powerful wings moving away into the distance somewhere above his head, ragged voice calling for Bilbo to come back to him. Thorin reached out to hold his hand, bloodied fingers scrambling at the icy ground. But the hobbit was gone, and someone else had taken up that empty space beside him.

None of this Thorin could remember yet, stolen memories still buried away inside a subconscious that was leaking poison into his soul and taking the life from his eyes. A cruel twist of fate and Thorin’s bloody stupidity meant they never got a real chance to be together. Bilbo would never know Thorin loved him. The king willingly embraced the end without the little hobbit by his side, shaken only by an ethereal voice that called to him through the void.

_Death does not take away the light. It simply extinguishes the flame because the dawn has arrived. Come back, Thorin, son of Thráin. Come back to this life and fulfil your true destiny._

Thorin struggled to his feet, myriad of scattered thoughts crashing through his mind before all memory faded away completely. The Necromancer was the only one who had the power to bring back the dead. Thorin had begged Mahâl to save him from dying without ever being with the one he loved, but someone else was listening and there was always a price. The enchantment would take away all recollection. So his mind could never be swayed by his own choice or desire before he ran out of time to pay that debt. A bit of celestial small print to stop anyone from trying to cheat it. The magic would soon decide where Thorin’s heart truly belonged.

“How are you, my dear boy?” Gandalf asked kindly, when Bilbo opened the door to let him in. “I imagine that was quite the shock. Did the king take care of you last night?”

Bilbo ignored the question on purpose. He had no idea how to answer that. The hobbit was pleased to see the wizard again, but Gandalf rarely brought tidings of joy. This morning was no exception.

“Is something wrong?”

“Perhaps.” Gandalf replied slowly. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Bilbo felt his stomach sink. _Talk about Thorin, was what he really meant_.

“About what?”

“You guess well enough, I think.” Gandalf removed his hat and sat down in a chair by the hearth. “Besides which, I believe I owe you an apology.”

“Me?” Bilbo frowned. That was the last thing he expected. The wizard smiled, twinkling eyes shining bright in the firelight.

“If I had known Thorin lived, I would never have sent you from his side. I don’t know what damage has been caused by it, but it was done with the best of intentions. I only wanted to keep you safe, Bilbo.” Gandalf sighed. “That battle was no place for a gentle hobbit.”

“I’m fine.”

Gandalf nodded. Not sure that was true, even if Bilbo believed it.

“I am more concerned about the king now I see you are here by choice.”

“I am, Gandalf. I want to prove my loyalty to Thorin.” Bilbo could see doubt pulling at the wizard’s composure. “Oh, I know you think I’m being a fool for hoping, but he didn’t really do anything wrong. Well, apart from that silly dragon business. Despite what Balin said, he seems much better since he got his precious Arkenstone back.”

“Hmm.” Gandalf said more in that one little noise than he could have conveyed in an entire speech he wrote just for the occasion. “If you want my opinion, I don’t think that accursed stone has anything to do with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The malady is not just in his mind now, Bilbo. This sickness lies in his heart, and that is much more dangerous than the curse of any worm. It will consume him. Even now it grips like a vice. Slowly squeezing until all the life is out of him - and yours with it, I think.”

“His heart?” Bilbo echoed, in a whisper. The wizard gently coaxed him back to the warm fire. He looked far too sickly for a hobbit. His wound wasn't healing, and Bilbo was too polite to make a fuss about how much pain he was in. Gandalf could see how vulnerable Bilbo really was now he knew the king was alive. A subtle need to be loved and cared for that sweet little halfling denied his whole life. Gandalf still remembered him as a young fauntling, always running off in search of new adventures. Looking for something to give his life meaning. Now he had found it, but the wizard had to warn him about the shadow crushing Thorin’s heart. Preferably without having to actually say it. Bilbo was happy Gandalf seemed so concerned for his safety, but he didn’t think he could leave Thorin now, whatever the cost. Even Smaug had cast doubt in the hobbit’s mind, as if he somehow knew the consuming need to secure Thorin’s affection had always been the weak spot in Bilbo’s courage. He felt lost and confused, not wanting to believe his life meant nothing to someone he loved so deeply. Bilbo would have willingly thrown it all away to keep Thorin safe. Betraying his trust to save him, even when no one else would. Bilbo couldn’t help wondering how it all went so horribly wrong. “I must stay with him.” Bilbo said quietly. Gandalf was watching the hobbit with that silent understanding he did so well. _Why the halfling?_   A question the wizard wasn’t certain he could answer. Galadriel’s voice echoing in his mind like a prophecy. It was not great power that would keep Thorin in the world of the living. Only kindness and love could help stay the darkness. Thorin craved both as much as he needed every beat of his fading heart.

“I thought you would say that. I have known for some time how much you care for him.”

“I do.” Bilbo whispered, because despite everything Thorin had done - it was true. He felt the tips of his little ears grow warm. “Very much.” Bilbo hesitated, finally putting a name to all the fear that kept him awake at night. “But, Gandalf - is it really Thorin?” Bilbo knew how distant the king was. Those blue eyes often seemed to drift over the hobbit’s shoulder like he was searching far beyond the borders of Erebor for something he couldn’t find.

“Yes, but he is not himself. And neither are you.”

“Poppycock.” Bilbo tutted, hoping the twitch in his cheek wasn’t too obvious. “I’m perfectly fine, but I’m so worried about him. Something isn’t right.” He shook his head. “Definitely not right. I just don’t understand why he wouldn’t remember.”

“Bilbo.” The wizard said gently, rising again to soak in the warmth of the fire. “You must understand something. If what Lord Elrond said to me is true, magic can be clever. It gives with one hand while it takes with the other. His body was brought back, but when a soul leaves this world, a part of that person can sometimes get left behind.”

“Which part?” Bilbo asked quickly, blushing when he thought about all the bits Thorin might need one day if he could ever get that wretched dwarf to make the first move.

“I suspect he’s whole.” Gandalf said, with some amusement. “If that’s what you mean. But as for the broken pieces of him you cannot see - ” He sighed, leaning over his staff like he suddenly needed its support. “I do not know.” Gandalf believed Thorin was weakening. His sudden need to keep the hobbit so close disturbed the wizard more than he cared to admit. “Once the shadow takes hold, it never lets go.”

“He certainly does seem distracted.” Bilbo suddenly felt a pang of sadness twist inside him, ashamed to say he had almost forgotten about the heirs. “Does Thorin know his nephews were killed in the battle?”

“Oh, Bilbo.” Gandalf touched his hand with affection. “Fíli and Kíli are alive. They have gone to the Blue Mountains to see their mother. I have no doubt they will return soon.”

Bilbo couldn’t breathe. Imagining Dís would never have been able to bear so much sorrow at their passing. _Would she ever know the truth?_   Everything was too much for Bilbo to take in without his eyes filling up with tears. The dwarves he loved, had grieved for, springing back to life without any explanation. Bilbo couldn’t stand it. He needed air. Thorin had given him plenty of attention but now it felt more like the dwarf wanted to touch him as if he was a part of that blasted treasure. The hobbit would do anything to save his beloved king from descending any deeper into darkness. Bilbo decided there was nothing else for it. He had to leave the mountain until he was sure Thorin would be safe.


	8. Friends In High Places

**8\. Friends In High Places**

Legolas found Bilbo wandering along the eastern borders of Mirkwood, pale and alone. He hadn’t seen the hobbit since returning to the woodland realm after the battle, many weeks before. Legolas sprinted closer when he realised it was the halfling. Tear-stained cheeks not the only sign something was dreadfully wrong with him. The elf checked Bilbo over with concerned eyes before accepting he was definitely in one piece.

“Where did you spring from?” Legolas was never short of breath after a run, but his words still spilled out in a gasp. “I did not expect to see you here. What is this tale?”

“Master Greenleaf.” Bilbo bowed low in greeting, surprised to see anyone else out there in the wild. His eyes were nothing like the sniper sights of an Elf, and still so swollen from crying he didn’t notice Legolas until he was standing right in front of him. He didn’t see much point in lying. “I ran away.” Bilbo cringed at how pathetic that sounded, even in his own head. He had built up a reputation for many things across Rhovanion, but a spineless coward was never one of them. There was so much pity in the piercing eyes staring down at him, Bilbo thought he might collapse in a sobbing heap right there.

“Ran away?” Legolas echoed. “From what?”

“Myself, I think.” Bilbo attempted a weak smile. He quickly told the prince about his return to the Lonely Mountain. How he believed Thorin had died in battle, and how his poisoned mind had become a cold, dark place with no memory of their friendship.

“My father guessed as much. Dragon sickness has a way of devouring even the strongest of hearts.” Bilbo hummed in response. Well, that was a back-handed compliment if ever he heard one. “The healers said the king had a grievous wound. I was surprised to learn he still lived.” _You and me both_. Bilbo thought. “But you were a valued member of the Company.” Legolas didn’t really concern himself with Dwarves if he could help it, but news of Thorin’s miraculous recovery had spread through the Greenwood like wildfire. “Why did you leave?”

“I was just scared.” Bilbo admitted, dropping his gaze. “Thorin is alive and I don’t know how, but it’s not just that. I never realised how much I cared for him until I looked on his face again. I don’t think my heart can lose him a second time. It’s not natural, but I want so much for it to be true. Do you know anything more about it?”

“Only what little I picked up from eavesdropping.” Legolas gave Bilbo a wicked smile. “I heard Ada talking to the Lord Elrond before the Council. He has been very secretive of late.”

Thranduil forbade anyone in the wood to speak of it, but Legolas always fancied himself as a maverick and had a soft spot for the little halfling with doe eyes and the kindest soul he had ever known.

“Please, Legolas. I have to know how Thorin is still here.” Bilbo once felt the cold skin under trembling fingers, watched the blue eyes close forever. There was no heartbeat, no breath escaped his lips. Bilbo knew Thorin’s life had ended that terrible day, yet here he was – alive and brooding. The hobbit supressed a shiver that rippled all the way down his body and slinked into his bones. “He died in my arms.”

Legolas seemed to hesitate just a little too long for it to be meaningless.

“There is only one way I know to bring a soul back, perian.” He conceded in defeat. Bilbo’s pleading eyes were a force to be reckoned with, despite the fact he had to stand on his tiptoes to confront the elf head on. “Come, sit by me. I will tell you what I know.” Bilbo willingly perched himself on a dry tree stump while Legolas flitted down beside him like a falling leaf. Delicately folding his legs one over the other before removing his bow. “If Thorin Oakenshield truly returned from death, then it can be nothing but sorcery. Magic must not be used for selfish purposes. To make someone love you, to call back a spirit. It should never be allowed.” Legolas said quietly. “But it is possible.”

“So, it is magic.” The hobbit gasped, eyes suddenly sparkling in the sunlight.

“Yes, Bilbo. I believe an enchantment is the only way your king would be able to return.”

Bilbo sighed so deep it trembled through the leaves above his head. He knew Gandalf had suspected the same for a while now. Thorin didn’t need a spell for the hobbit to fall in love with him. He managed that all on his own.

“But, how? I don’t think Thorin even knows any magic. He’s not really the type.” Bilbo smiled, almost apologetic.

“No dwarf has that sort of power. Only the children of Ilúvatar.” The hobbit was still staring up at him, little nose twitching in confusion. “An Elf, or a Man.” Legolas clarified. “Eru may have awoken the Dwarves, but they were shaped by Aulë. Thorin could not have done this without help.”

“I don’t understand.” Bilbo frowned.

“I’m not sure I do either.” Legolas answered honestly. “There is a guardian who watches over the path of dreams, _Olórë Mallë_  we call it, but even a true heart’s desire might not be enough to grant a dying wish.” Irmo was also a master of illusion, but Legolas thought it better not to mention that. Bilbo would be crushed forever if he thought the king had returned to him, only to discover he was nothing more than a trick of the light. “I think this may go all the way to the top, Bilbo. Mithrandir and many of my kin are wonderful healers, but not even a wizard can do that.”

The hobbit always suspected Elves thought less of a race not directly created by Eru. Thorin really wanted the Arkenstone to reunite the seven Dwarf families, but something got lost along the way. The king had always set out to do what was right, but no one ever seemed to understand him, and it made Bilbo a bit sharp.

“I don’t suppose it matters to your people that he lives. Didn’t you all condemn Thorin in your hearts for his words at the gate?”

“No, Bilbo.” Legolas seemed hurt the hobbit even had to ask. “We are not so proud. I value each life on its own merit. It is not in our nature to judge others.” Bilbo bit his tongue, remembering the distaste practically dribbling from Thranduil’s mouth when he looked down at the Dwarven king. Bilbo had never seen anything but strength and beauty in Thorin’s face. No one else ever seemed to notice. “But a spirit that has already left this world would need a powerful reason to be drawn back.”

Bilbo felt something stick in his throat. Thorin never really told him in words if he truly cared for him. The hobbit always believed his infatuation with the dwarf was rather one-sided. A horrible thought suddenly hit him like an arrow to the chest.

“What if it isn’t what you think it is? Something darker, maybe?” Bilbo added in a whisper, like even saying it out loud might lure in every bloodthirsty beast within a hundred miles.

“If it _is_ Elf-magic, then no. Not all of us are completely free from corruption, though we do have a better advantage than most at keeping the darkness away.” Bilbo slumped with relief, but it was small comfort. He wondered how Thorin could possibly have bumped into a wandering magician when he was spread out in death on a cold slab of ice, but it was the best idea they had right now and Legolas seemed to believe enough for both of them.

“But what of his heirs? Thorin was alone when I left him. How could they possibly be alive when I saw Fíli fall to his death with an orc blade sticking out his chest?” None of it made any sense. Not to a hobbit, anyway. Legolas seemed to be giving it some serious thought.

“They are still from the line of Durin.” He answered slowly. “So maybe they got a pass too. It would depend on what Thorin wished for, I suppose. What do you think?” Bilbo shrugged. Not sure he should say much more in case he started blubbing again.

“Gandalf sent me away before his body was recovered.” Bilbo still hadn’t quite forgiven him for that. “I do not know for sure, but I believed in my heart he was gone. I felt his loss, Legolas.” Bilbo drew in a deep breath, fresh tears threatening to rise up. “I felt it to my very soul.”

“A bond like that goes beyond this world.” Legolas replied. He had never known true love, but imagined he could see just what it looked like right there in the hobbit’s eyes. “The Creator has the oldest and strongest magic of all.” The elf whispered, with reverence. “If this is his will, there is no escaping it.” Bilbo let out a profound sigh. “So, what drew you back? Did you feel the pull of a spell?”

“Nothing quite so exciting, I’m afraid.” Bilbo fiddled with a blade of grass between his knees. It was all too much to take in after abandoning second breakfast. “I missed him. Thorin’s memory was a hole in me that would never heal. I had to make peace with it in my heart.” Bilbo suddenly paused. Just for a moment. “I love him.”

Legolas had the faint twitch of a smile. Finally understanding why that adorable little hobbit looked so dreadfully sad.

“Whatever happens, no one can take that from you.”

“He doesn’t remember me, not really.”

“But you remember him. Happy memories are all your own. They are the songs of your heart.” The elf had such a beautiful way of speaking, it even made something so cruel sound beautiful. “Maybe a cherished memory is the part he was forced to leave behind.”

“So, if such a spell brings someone back, must it be paid in kind?”

“Valar, no!” Legolas looked genuinely horrified. “Elves do not believe in trading one life for another.” The mere suggestion seemed to have stolen all the colour from his face. “But you must give something precious in payment of your debt.”

“And what is that?” Bilbo asked in a whisper, dangling somewhere between fear and fascination.

The elf was perfectly still for a moment while golden leaves fluttered down from their branches. Just caught on a barely discernible breeze in such a tangled maze of a forest. Legolas' voice was little more than a soft hush when he spoke again.

“The thing you hold closest to your heart.” Legolas smiled, two keen eyes suddenly fixed on the hobbit. “I galad o cín cuil.” He added softly. Bilbo got the distinct impression he wasn’t speaking from personal experience. “Something you love above all else.”

“Oh.” Bilbo murmured. The very idea took his breath away. “How romantic.” He could listen to their graceful language for hours. Legolas gave him a dark look.

“Sometimes it becomes twisted.” _Not so romantic_. “Then the magic decides what the cost may be when that debt comes due.” There was a strange sadness in his eyes Bilbo had never seen before. The hobbit felt a sudden curl of fear spiral inside him when he remembered Gandalf’s words after the Council. _Oh dear_. He blinked it away.

“Why such a high price for a single wish?”

“Eru would deem the greatest treasure you have to be a fair exchange for his gift.”

“Then it is no longer a gift.” Bilbo interrupted. He was annoyed with himself for getting upset by a supreme being, but holding that over someone didn’t make The One sound particularly benevolent. “Why take something at all if the magic is already spent?” Legolas seemed to find that comment rather serious, and stared into the distance for dramatic effect.

“Balance.” Bilbo felt a headache coming on, and rubbed at one temple. He really didn’t understand how all this enchantment business worked. It sounded like a lot of unnecessary and confusing nonsense. Legolas decided to let the hobbit be for a while so he could rest, and use the time to scout for any dangers. He stood up without a sound, stretching like a slender willow growing up from the very ground beneath his feet. The elf touched Bilbo on the shoulder and bent down to murmur one last lesson in his pointed ear. “Sometimes the sacrifice is worth more than the gain. That’s why it is called magic.”

“Bilbo?” A light touch on his shoulder was trying to shake him awake. He didn’t realise he had fallen asleep again until the elf shocked him back to consciousness with a great deal of urgency.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” Bilbo jumped up in alarm, vision swimming when all the blood rushed to his head. Even through sleepy eyes he could see it was long after sunset. His gaze moved past Legolas to another lithe form standing behind him. Bilbo blinked stupidly at them while the gentle wash of Sindarin calmed his senses. Legolas turned back to him, bright eyes twinkling like raw larimar in the dim light. So sensitive, their usual pinprick of a pupil was much wider than usual. Bilbo wondered absently if it was from the darkness, or fear. The elf was always so calm, perfect serenity reflecting a youthful glow that hid many years of existence. Bilbo felt his heart skip a beat. Legolas looked nervous. The Elf prince could feel the trees and stone, hear their whispers. There was a chill edge to the evening air like a warning he couldn’t ignore.

“We must go.” Legolas answered, in the common tongue. “There are worse things here than darkness, and I have been much too careless already.” Bilbo was still too tired to argue, and let himself get dragged along behind the elves at a pace he would never be able to keep up. Just when he thought his legs might give way, someone lifted him up off the ground and set him on a white horse. The hobbit was draped over its back, toes dangling while he jiggled up and down. An Elven steed was a lot more comfortable than a fat-bellied pony, but every movement still made his stomach churn. His wound ached so much, it was almost unbearable. Pounding hooves sending sharp pain up his side like a red-hot knife.

Legolas gave a cry and the horse staggered to a stop as if someone had yanked an invisible rein. There was a clamour of yelling voices coming from the mountain like the dwarves were preparing for another war. Metal clinked, horns sounded. Legolas intended to take Bilbo to safety while they checked it out. He could see a steady stream of torchlight flooding out of the gate, keen eyes picking up on eight dwarves scouring the courtyard and every crack and crevasse in the wall. Poking firebrands into dark spaces. Desperately searching for something - or someone. Legolas and his silent companion sprinted away, leaving Bilbo alone and wriggling in a futile attempt to stay mounted. A violent jolt of agony threatened to make him pass out again and he slid off the horse, landing on his back with a graceless thud. The last thing Bilbo remembered before the blackness took him was someone frantically calling his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Si. Ada : Father  
> Si. Perian : Halfling  
> Si. Olórë Mallë : Path of Dreams  
> Si. I galad o cín cuil : The light of your life


	9. Just A Dream

**9\. Just A Dream**

Bilbo was still shaking and sick with fever from the bite when Dwalin found him, loyal to the king as ever. Barely conscious, and mumbling through his fit. The dwarf carefully carried Bilbo inside and rushed him to Thorin’s chambers. Time didn’t seem to pass like it normally did, and the poor little hobbit had no idea how long he had been asleep. When he tried to open his eyes, nothing happened so he just rolled over on to his side. Releasing a sensual hum into a bundle of luxurious pelts when something familiar drifted upwards and stirred him awake. All his senses suddenly filled with the scent of Thorin. The king wouldn’t leave his side. Something he didn’t yet understand drew him to watch over the shivering form of this strange little creature that stirred a desperate need inside him. Staring at the halfling brought back some scattered memories once forgotten. Thorin believed Bilbo was gone, and sent half the mountain out looking for him. Trying hard to figure out why he cared if the hobbit left him alone again.

Bilbo sat up in a daze with sleepy eyes. Cheeks flushed and hair all messed-up when he lifted his weary head to gaze around in confusion.

“How do you feel?” Thorin asked gently. _Sweet Mahâl, it felt like a sin just looking at him_. So tempted to reach out and touch the hobbit, he had to sit on both hands to make them behave.

Bilbo didn’t answer. Trying to take it all in and ignore the need for a less attractive distraction when it felt like he might throw up any minute. Thorin was so concerned by his silence, he went to fetch the healer. Bilbo was surprised (and more than a little disappointed) that Óin returned alone.

“This is a nasty wound, lad.” The dwarf tutted, after peeling up Bilbo's shirt and giving it a rather vigorous prod. Anyone with eyes could see it was badly infected. “How long you had this?”

“I got attacked when I crossed through Mirkwood. I don’t remember, exactly.” Bilbo shrugged. “A few days, maybe.” He tried helpfully. Everything felt so far away and long ago. All he could think about was Thorin. The rest of his existence just kind of passed him by in shadow.

“Why didn’t you say something, you daft boy.” Óin made one of those noises that suggested it was too serious to even try and justify it with mere words. “You’re lucky to be alive, let alone awake.”

“It’s nothing.” Bilbo said valiantly, sweeping Óin’s hand away. “Just a scratch.” He wasn’t going to make a fuss. Bilbo suddenly sat bolt upright with a start, covered only by a mantle of fur. The cold breeze drifting up between his thighs suggested not much else.

“Oh my.” Bilbo gasped, with the fearful realisation he was wrapped in nothing but smalls and a linen shirt. “Who undressed me?” Both cheeks flared pink.

“I don’t know.”

Bilbo collapsed on his back with a groan. Making a reasonably accurate stab in the dark at who was responsible for relieving him of his britches.

Thorin returned a few minutes later with a bowl of something unidentifiable, but hot. He set it down by the side of his bed next to the chest containing the Arkenstone. Bilbo deliberately made a point of turning his face away.

“Why didn’t you say you practically stripped me bare?” Bilbo stammered. He was completely over-exaggerating, but the shock of waking up half-naked in a strange bed was too much to deal with on an empty stomach.

“My intentions were completely honourable, halfling.” Not strictly true, but Thorin felt a bit offended anyway. It sounded more like an accusation, and he didn’t like it. “You were burning up with fever.” The whole damn thing was now bordering on awkward, so Thorin dismissed Óin. He wanted Bilbo all to himself for a bit.

“Sorry, I just – hmm.” Bilbo couldn’t find anything else to say, and pulled the fur in between his legs to make a point. “Never mind.” The hobbit now felt dreadful for doubting Thorin, and reached out to touch his face when the king settled by his side again. He wanted to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming. Thorin felt a stirring low in his belly when Bilbo lifted himself up on the bed to try and claw back some sliver of respectability. He had no right to be taking a nap in the bed of a king. Thorin was rigid with nervous anticipation, desire suddenly swamping his thoughts and pushing his broken mind to reminisce. He suddenly heard a fateful echo of those words that had brought his spirit back. Maybe his true destiny had nothing to do with the forgotten kingdom.

“Thorin?” Bilbo murmured fearfully, scared he must have done something to upset him. The king opened his mouth to speak again when hazy thoughts suddenly rushed back in on a wave of emotion.

“I know you.” Thorin whispered slowly. A long-forgotten memory filtering through an unblinking gaze. Searching the hobbit’s own for something he couldn’t quite remember. There was a fragile hint of happiness shining out from behind his eyes. Bilbo hadn’t seen them burn so blue since he held out a single acorn the day before all hope was lost. His little hand trembling while he watched Thorin’s perfect smile grow, almost pulling him free of the dragon sickness. Just for a second. Maybe that one moment in time would have been enough to end the madness if Bilbo had said those three words lingering on his tongue. Thorin forced his mind to scratch at his subconscious, concentration pulling at his mouth. The king suddenly went still as stone, clutching one hand to his chest like he was trying to push away an ache that lay around his heart. “My little burglar. Bilbo.”

\- and _oh, Goddess!_   If that wasn’t the sweetest sound he ever heard.

“Yes.” Bilbo cried, both knees threatening to give way when the hobbit reached for Thorin’s hands and kissed them with devotion, heart overflowing with joy while tears filled his eyes again. “Yes, Thorin.” His little body was drenched with so much relief, Bilbo was dizzy with it. Lost so deep in bliss, he almost didn’t hear the voice in his head call him back. Imploring him to show some restraint in front of the king.

Bilbo. The name alone stirred Thorin’s sketchy memory. Leaking out from the past, with its edges faded by time and weariness. Precious images of the hobbit etched into his subconscious like a beautiful dream from long ago. Cheeks rosy as two sun-kissed apples when he smiled. A gentle heart that captivated the king in a way he had never known. Something unfamiliar, but still warmth and home and comfort all packed into a single little body. A comfort Thorin never had. Raised to be a king beneath cold mountains, where the only pleasures to ease his lonely heart in the dark mines were dying brands of fire and the constant clink of metal against stone.

“You remember me?” Bilbo whispered.

“I think I do.” Thorin sighed deep. “My heart tells me so, and I have no choice but to believe it. You were with me on the quest to reclaim Erebor?” Bilbo nodded, unable to form a single articulate sentence. “Is there anything in my kingdom I can give in payment for your service? You have but to name it.”

Bilbo took in a fractured breath. Thorin was offering anything his heart desired from the legacy of Thrór, but a hobbit cared little for diamonds and gold.

“You alone have the one thing I want most, but I do not think it is mine to take yet.”

Thorin frowned down at him, brows pinched together even though hope sparked inside a cold heart. Bilbo wanted to say it. Longed to tell Thorin he had loved him for so long he couldn’t remember anything else, but it wouldn’t come.

“You talk in riddles, halfling.”

Bilbo still had no idea why Thorin found it so difficult to say the two syllables that made up his name in favour of a ridiculous description that only implied he was shorter than most. Not a particularly insightful observation in anyone’s book.

“Bilbo. My name is Bilbo.”

The king nodded with a smile, transfixed by the scorching fire behind that gaze.

“Bilbo.” The way Thorin’s tongue rolled so gently over the vowels made it sound like something priceless to be treasured.

Bilbo had fallen asleep again, happier than he had felt in a long time. The healer kept coming and going, plying him with all sorts of strange concoctions that didn’t seem to be of any use at all. Bilbo was getting worse and Óin couldn’t seem to heal him. The usual herbs and potions weren’t helping.

Another day and night passed in strung-out delirium. His fading world filled with muted voices and strange dreams. Bilbo had no idea what time it was when he next forced his eyes open. Wondering if he actually had. It was just as dark as it was when they were shut. A hushed voice flitted in and out of poisoned senses when he felt something warm and grabby press against his back. Thorin slurred a hum of contentment when he lay down next to Bilbo. He ached to hold the hobbit in his arms again, singing a gentle lullaby to him while he slept. Bilbo lay still in the darkness, not daring to let the king know he could hear him. Way too much mead at dinner and a stab of conscience released his voice, and everything he wanted to say to Bilbo since his memory started to awaken. Bilbo knew Thorin could sing. He heard that perfect voice once before in Bag End, but here it was like a shaft of sunlight piercing through the confines of his infection. Beautiful and clear. He couldn’t understand all the words, but it echoed from the stone walls and sparked tears to his eyes. Thorin would never have done it if he thought for one second the hobbit had been stirred awake. Finally falling asleep behind him, tortured mind calmed for a while by peaceful dreams.

Nothing felt any less confusing when Bilbo awoke the next morning, realising the dwarf must have been lying behind him for most of the night. He couldn’t even remember drifting off again. So weary and emotionally wrecked now he knew the king remembered him, Bilbo dropped into a dead sleep as soon as his eyes fluttered shut again. When he blinked the drowse away he saw a blurry image of Thorin sitting at the end of the bed wrapped in furs, watching Bilbo so closely it was almost uncomfortable. How long he had been there, Eru only knew.

Bilbo stayed perfectly still while the king sang to him in the night. Now the hobbit couldn’t even hazard a guess at what he was thinking. His expression was warm, but completely unreadable. Thorin almost wished Bilbo could see the thoughts inside his head that tormented him with the promise of a warm body to bury himself in. Thorin always thought Bilbo pretty. Even so to another hobbit, he guessed - but to a dwarf he was a soft little peach with eyes like pools concealing limitless depths. The brightness of a smile that would shame the glint of a mountain of gems. The perfect dip in his chin. Hair so silky it was like stroking the feathers of a hatchling. Hardly feeling the touch of it against his fingertips. _The sweetness of him_. Such a big heart in a tiny body. Thorin loved how Bilbo would sometimes look up at him from under the shade of sandy lashes with come-to-bed eyes that he really didn't intend. Such innocence only made Thorin want him more. That intoxicating creature possessed seduction beyond measure and could still have a fair shot at staring down Durin’s Bane just to prove a point.

“I want to remember, Bilbo. I want to remember everything.” _Could you ever love someone like me?_   Thorin wondered, but still he said nothing. The threat of rejection always uppermost in his mind. “You have a lot of courage, my hobbit.” Thorin smiled. Broken images fading in and out of his thoughts in fractured pieces. Impressed by the way Bilbo had brushed off a dangerous wound as if it were nothing more than an insect bite. “I have seen it with my own eyes.” Thorin would not let his heart dare to hope, if it was all just a dream. Bilbo glanced up again. Praise indeed coming from someone like Thorin. The memory of many heroic deeds on the road only cementing Bilbo’s desire for a brooding dwarf he wanted to lose himself in.

“Thank you.” He whispered, with that funny little smile he always had. Caught somewhere between a twitch and a laugh like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. “I don’t think I ever really meant to be so brave.” He just kept getting dragged in to things without consent and making the best of it like any sensible hobbit would. Thorin leaned towards him, still not daring to go in for a kiss. It was so unexpected, Bilbo just held his breath while the king cradled the halfling in his arms with a touch that leaked possession. Thorin longed for the hobbit to be his, something Bilbo hoped for every time he was locked in an iron embrace. Imagining it might take even more than the strength of a Cave-troll to be able to prise his little body from those thick fingers. Bilbo curled into it, almost ashamed of how much he wanted to feel protective arms around him. He had always been so independent. Never needing anyone to touch him, to hold him. But no one ever looked at him like that. Thorin wasn’t very good at finding ways to show his affection, but to let himself believe the king never wanted anyone else to touch him gave Bilbo a subtle power over the dwarf that dragged up every instinct to be owned from the depths of his belly.


	10. Hidden Depths

**10\. Hidden Depths**

Bilbo wandered aimlessly back to his room, trying to forget the humiliation he suffered at breakfast that morning. Bofur had greeted him with a wide smile and a cheery _My stars, Bilbo_. Encouraging him to sit when he staggered down for something to eat. _I’ll wager you didn’t get much rest_. Bofur helped himself to a fistful of warm bread before Bombur whacked the back of his hand with a spoon.

 _Not really_. Bilbo had yawned, pushing his plate away. Appetite fair wilted away to nothing. _The king seemed intent on keeping me awake until I could hardly hold my eyes open. Not that I didn’t enjoy his company, but I just couldn’t get comfortable. Thorin’s sword kept poking me in the back_. A deathly silence had descended in the kitchens before Bofur laughed until his eyes watered.

 _That wasn’t his sword_.

The hobbit had blushed like a beacon.

Bilbo sulked most of the afternoon away trying to remember what it felt like to have Thorin’s huge arms wrapped around him. The shameful desire to let the king take him was fading without the warmth of his hug. Bilbo was a respectable hobbit of unimpeachable character. _How had he let so much sinful wantonness creep into his thoughts?_  Thorin had just dropped Bilbo back onto the bed before storming out without a single word. He always was a bit dramatic, but Bilbo couldn’t understand how a dwarf with the imagination of a brick could shift his emotions like that for no good reason. That morning alone, the king had gone from one extreme to the other. Jumping between possessive cuddling and icy silence on the flip of a coin (no pun intended) and now poor Bilbo was back to wallowing in that murky pool of doubt. Not sure his love for Thorin would ever be able to wind its way into a blackened heart. Sometimes it was like the king only wanted him close to touch his velvety skin, run his fingers over Bilbo’s arse in the same way he might fondle the perfect edges of a cut stone. Bilbo suspected he was nothing more than a rare trinket to a Dwarven king, but that wasn’t it at all. Complete lack of communication had so often been the chink in Thorin’s gilded armour. He had no idea Bilbo was already in love with him, never hoped to win the heart of someone so beautiful. Thorin believed with his last dying breath, he would never get a chance to tell the hobbit how much he meant to him. Cruelly betrayed by his own failing memory.

Bilbo idled away the lonely hours watching the world go by beneath his window, wondering what happened to the elves that kept him safe from the unseen dangers of Mirkwood. The hobbit shared a little more than he intended with Legolas, but he still didn’t seem any nearer to solving the mystery of Thorin’s reawakening, even if it was some kind of magic. The elves had returned to the wood once they were sure the halfling was safe. Legolas knew his father intended to go back to the mountain for the white gems of Eryn Lasgalen as soon as the king was in a more charitable mood. Thorin was still sore about anyone with pointed ears unless they were four feet tall with furry toes and lips you could buff a gemstone on.

Bilbo had been consigned to his own room while the king was busy with whatever he did all day in such an empty mountain. Balin seemed to think the hobbit was looking much better on Óin’s prescription of fresh air and soup. More use than any ridiculous elixir he threw at him. Bilbo sighed a deep breath into the cold air. He still felt so sick and tired. Drained, almost. Bilbo knew very little about his golden ring, but even that burden was secretly overshadowed by his own fate now bound forever to the king. Just when Bilbo thought he might actually die of boredom, he was heartened by a surprise visit from Gandalf. Honestly, he would have preferred Thorin, but Bilbo was much too kind to mention it. The wizard smiled at him, amazed to see him out of bed. He could almost sense him waning. Gandalf knew a little about the old legends. Being in love with a Shadowheart would bleed away the poor hobbit’s soul until there was nothing left. He was such a gentle creature, pure and unsullied. One day Bilbo might understand why he would take so little hurt from the ring. Because he began his ownership with pity.

“The king told me you were in need of a healer. I will do what I can to aid you, Bilbo. Thorin said there was some urgency. I hoped he would be here, for I would very much like to speak with him again.”

Bilbo tutted. Always so defensive when it came to Thorin. He sighed again for good measure, carefully twirling the precious band between his fingers where it lay hidden in the depths of a tattered pocket.

“I imagine he has more important matters to attend to.”

Gandalf didn’t reply, but he had a mind Thorin would happily welcome as much attention from the hobbit as he could get. His sickness had taken a new form. So paranoid anyone would try to steal the halfling away, he spent more time at Bilbo’s bedside than he did in the treasure hall.

Bilbo waited all day for him, trying not to take his absence personally. It was no secret how temperamental Thorin was lately, so Bilbo was stunned by an unexpected request to return to the king’s chambers. Thorin told the other dwarves he wished to learn more about their adventures on the road, but that wasn’t really why he wanted the hobbit so close. The mere thought of anyone else daring to cast their eyes over him made Thorin sick to his stomach. Stirrings of emotions he never expected to feel sparking a consuming desire to claim Bilbo as his, and his alone.

“You wanted to see me?” Bilbo gasped breathlessly when he arrived at Thorin’s door after Gandalf finished prodding at him with that damn staff. Nervous trip along the long stone passage taking the last of his energy.

“Yes, Bilbo.” Thorin said slowly. It looked like he had been mulling something over for a while. “I - we.” The dwarf corrected, faltering over the hushed words. “Did anything ever come between us?” The king was suddenly so shy, he had to avert his eyes. Rosy flush mysteriously appearing on both cheeks.

“Why would you ask me that?” Bilbo said quietly, terrified one of the other dwarves might have snitched on him. Thorin was painfully insecure, never once believing he deserved unconditional love. His skilled hands had never experienced intimate touch, or bothered wasting precious combat time looking for his One. Love was never really high on Thorin’s agenda. The dwarf had no idea how to express what he was feeling, but he tried anyway.

“The way my heart swells when I’m near you.” Thorin said seriously. “The way you look at me. I want to believe there was something more between us.”

Bilbo was gaping at him, suffocating fear suddenly pulling at his chest. _What if he remembers the theft of the stone?_   Bilbo swallowed a tight breath. The madness seemed to surface and disappear at random, and contrary to popular belief, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Thorin sensed his reluctance to answer and quickly changed the subject. The hobbit was still staring at him in alarm, and Thorin could feel his battered heart pounding with regret. It was too soon. The last thing the king wanted was to scare Bilbo into more silence. Thorin left him alone again, once more drowning his sorrows at dinner before he had enough courage to return.

Bilbo was half-asleep by the time the king stumbled back to his room, almost losing his footing in the dark. It was selfish to wake him, but Thorin couldn’t stop himself. He sat on the edge of the bed, just watching Bilbo’s chest rise and fall in slumber. It was a good few minutes before he spoke at all. lt was hard to find the right thing to say.

“Are you happy here, bunny?” Thorin murmured against him. Cold heart slowly filling with a warmth he never knew. “You seem so sad sometimes.” Bilbo opened his eyes, those words jolting him awake. He didn’t know if telling Thorin the truth would push him away again. Maybe his love would never be returned. It almost made the hobbit ache more for him. Bilbo blinked through sleepy eyes, flinching when he sat up. The pain came and went, but it was always forgotten whenever the dwarf was so close. Bilbo knew in that moment he would never be truly content until he held the key to the king’s heart. He suddenly remembered where he heard that name before, but it felt strange coming from Thorin.

“Why did you call me that?” Bilbo asked quietly, pushing himself up on both elbows.

“Do you not like it?” Thorin hesitated, uncertainty in his eyes. He hadn’t made the connection. Bilbo shrugged.

“I don’t mind it. But only Beorn ever called me that.”

“The skin-changer.” Thorin smacked one hand to his head. “I had forgotten. That is not my meaning. _Bunnanun_ is tiny treasure. That is what you are to me, Master Baggins. Hobbit of hobbits.”

“Now you are mocking me.”

“I would never.” Thorin said sincerely. His aim was a bit off, but he lifted one hand to rest over his heart so Bilbo might truly believe it.

“You don’t know any other hobbits.” Bilbo was tempted to smile despite his internal outrage. So much attention from the King under the Mountain was addictive in a way he never expected.

“I do not care to know them.” Thorin said bluntly. “You are more than enough for me, and the one closest to my heart.” The king added in a whisper, suddenly laying himself wide open without any hint of warning. Thorin cursed his own stumbling attempt at flattery. His growing weakness to have the halfling in his bed was becoming dangerous. Mahâl take his beard for letting those eyes bewitch him into parting with so much honesty. “Is this acceptable?” Bilbo couldn’t imagine why Thorin would sound so insecure. His deep voice was tender but shaky, like he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer. In peril of throwing himself over the line between desire and obsession. Bilbo suddenly blushed and hummed in answer. He nodded against the strong chest, surprised Thorin would ask permission. He usually just presumed. A perk of being king, most likely. Thorin suddenly grabbed Bilbo by both wrists. Dragging him so close, their noses were almost touching. He didn’t fight it. There was a desperation in Thorin’s eyes that seemed to know he was on borrowed time. Bilbo might humbly accept he was prettier than most boy hobbits (even many of the female ones, if he was honest) but why someone as majestically beautiful as Thorin might find him desirable at all was as puzzling as some of Lobelia’s wretched hats. Bilbo was scared. Fearful of promising his life to Thorin while their future was still in doubt. Legolas had warned him there would be a price to pay. Even the elf didn’t know what might happen if the king failed to honour his debt. "Tell me you do not stay out of loyalty. Or fear.” Thorin murmured that last word like it pained him. Bilbo could feel warm breath caress the tip of one pointy ear.

“I am loyal to you, Thorin.” The blue gaze demanded something more, so Bilbo complied without question. Despite the powerful grip holding him fast, he wanted to make his king happy. “But that’s not why I stay.” The wide smile seemed to satisfy Thorin for the present, and he growled his approval against the hobbit’s cheek. Squeezing him so tight, Bilbo was scared he might actually be smothered to death by accident. He pulled away to catch a breath. “Stop it, Thorin.” Bilbo tried to wriggle free. He wanted to be sure the king was of clear mind if any confessions of affection happened to drift his way. “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re short.” Thorin leaned in so close, the words heated Bilbo’s skin and sent desire slinking down his body. He suddenly felt limp and responsive, cocooned in the king’s impressive hands. Hobbit sense screamed in Bilbo’s head to politely inform his highness that he wasn’t a gold coin. Bilbo opened his mouth to protest, but something about the thought of those rough lips worshipping his throat with hungry kisses was too tempting to resist. He snapped it shut again. Bilbo moaned softly, reluctantly pulling away from Thorin before the last scrap of morality abandoned him completely. One more inch and he would let the king devour his mouth. A single touch, and Bilbo knew he would be lost. He forced himself to turn away when searching fingers slipped into the silken shafts of his golden hair. “You should grow this longer.” Thorin said suddenly. A stray thought he never meant to voice aloud, emboldened by the copious amount of wine flooding through his veins.

“Why?” Bilbo asked, with a squint. Soft caress of strong fingertips coaxing him back to the same position he used every last remnant of self-control to pull away from once already.

“So I may braid it.”

“Why on Middle-earth would you want to braid it?” Bilbo tutted, completely unaware of such customs. “I’m not a dwarf, Thorin. I would look positively absurd.” The hint Bilbo was now being considered as a potential consort completely escaped him. Despite the warm flush of intoxication, Thorin still didn’t have the courage to ask outright. Winding a wayward curl around his finger to show his tiny treasure how much he longed for them to rule Erebor together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. Bunnanun : Tiny treasure


	11. A Tangled Web

**11\. A Tangled Web**

Thorin didn’t wake until late morning, dead to the world while he slept off the vat of wine he downed the night before. Most of the previous evening was still a blur. Bilbo had left the king to rest, but Thorin could almost taste the lingering smell of halfling in his bed. The only sign he had been there at all was a hobbit-shaped dent in the fur next to him. The dwarf spread his body across it, breathing in deep through his nose and drifting off for another hour with sleepy senses drenched in Bilbo’s scent.

Dwalin was standing guard at the door when Gandalf headed for the royal chambers. He suspected time was running out until all the magic was spent. Maybe there was nothing he could do to stop the king from wilting away to shadow but he had to try and save Thorin before it was too late.

“Good morning, Master Dwarf.” Gandalf bowed respectfully. Dwalin didn’t answer, just staring up at the wizard with cold detachment. “I wish to speak to the king if he would honour me with a moment of his time.”

“I got strict orders not to let anyone in while he’s asleep. He still needs to heal.” Dwalin replied with a grumble, undying loyalty to Thorin set in proverbial stone.

“Whose orders?”

“Mine.”

“No one is permitted to enter? Not even the hobbit?”

“ _Especially_   the hobbit.” Dwalin snapped.

“You do that poor boy a terrible disservice.” The wizard shook his head. “Oh, I know Bilbo can be a little excitable. Even prone to strange fainting fits. But he’s as tight as a dragon in a pinch if tested and whether you like it or not, those two are bound together somehow. Thorin needs Bilbo more than you can ever imagine.” Gandalf attempted a persuasive smile, but it didn’t seem to have the desired effect. “If you want my advice, I would let them spend as much time together as they can. Your king will heal much better with a warm heart.” Balin would probably disagree, but Dwalin wasn’t so dense that he didn't understand what Gandalf was hinting at. He suspected Bilbo was sweet on Thorin since the halfling threw himself in front of Azog. The dwarf gave him a curt nod before the wizard strode away in despair. Soon replaced by the pad of gentle footsteps coming up the passage. That hobbit seemed to have a supernatural talent for appearing out of thin air when someone was thinking about him.

“Hello, Mr. Dwalin, sir.” Bilbo said politely, heart pounding when those dark eyes looked him up and down. “I wanted to check on Thorin, but I can come back later.” Bilbo felt too tired for an unpleasant confrontation. Preparing to skulk away until Dwalin got bored and moved on.

“Bilbo?” The hobbit glanced back at the dwarf over one shoulder. If he didn’t know better, Bilbo might even think he was trying to smile. “You can go in, if you want. I won’t stand in your way.”

“Really?” Bilbo’s whole body seemed to spring back to life. It told Dwalin all he needed to know. “I thought you hated me bothering the king.”

“Hated you?” The dwarf looked genuinely stunned, the wizard’s words still hanging in the air. He sat down with a bump and dropped his head in both hands. Maybe he had laid the irritable hostility on a bit thick. “It’s not that.” Dwalin admitted quietly. The poor hobbit looked so fragile, his rosy cheeks and plump belly were just a distant memory. Maybe he was fading too. “My whole life I’ve been by the king’s side. I just wanted to see his dream fulfilled. A right he has more than earned. Thorin has proved his worth a hundred times over.” It took the dwarf a few seconds to manage to force his mouth into an actual smile. “But I know you make him happy, Bilbo. I want him to live a long life as King under the Mountain.”

Bilbo threw both arms around the dwarf’s neck before he could stop himself.

“Oh, Dwalin.” Bilbo sighed against him. “That’s all I want, too.”

Bilbo thought there wasn’t much that could shock him anymore, but nothing surprised him quite so much as the moment Dwalin hugged him back.

Thorin would have begged the hobbit to return, but the last thing he expected to see was Bilbo curled up at his feet while he waited for the king to awaken. Despite sleeping in unfashionably late, he looked awful. Perfect twists of his hair so messed up, his braids were almost unrecognisable. Dark circles painted shadows under both of his eyes.

“Maybe I should go back to my room.” Bilbo said quietly.

“No.” Thorin impulsively reached for his hand. “Stay with me. Just a little longer.”

“Very well.” Bilbo sighed, wondering what dark thoughts haunted the king inside his dreams. Thorin could no longer hide the sting of possessive jealousy, suspicious of all those he once trusted with his life. It was getting harder for Bilbo to resist the subtle pull of seduction. He wanted to touch Thorin in places that would have made Belladonna blush. Despite the frozen ground outside, the room was hot and airless and they both desperately needed a distraction. Thorin dragged himself up from the bed, slumping next to the fire to hide the sudden rush of blood tinting his cheeks. He still looked rough and unkempt. So particular about his appearance since he had retaken Erebor, Bilbo knew something was terribly wrong. “Did you get enough sleep?” Bilbo demanded. Thorin just grunted - answer enough. His head was still pounding. “Here, let me tend to your braids.” Bilbo offered gently, half-dragging the king to sit up straight so he could reach. “You look like a startled bear cub.” Thorin felt a fond smile threaten to betray the frown, not sure how Bilbo could have ever seen one. Beorn didn’t count. Thorin suddenly jerked his head back when the hobbit reached out to remove one of the beads.

“Leave it.” Thorin commanded, eyes lingering a little too long on the perfect curve of Bilbo’s lips. The hobbit dropped his hand with a pout, hurt his kindness had been rejected. Thorin was just nervous, not sure he could handle tiny fingers teasing delicate touches through his hair. Something felt very wrong inside him, and now lost memories were slowly coming back. He couldn’t let Bilbo take any more pieces of his heart if he couldn’t have him.

“You are angry with me.” Bilbo stared at the ground in shame.

“No. No, not angry.” Thorin’s grim expression softened a little in the warm firelight. “I am frustrated. I wish I could remember more, but I just... can’t.”

“Can’t, or don’t want to?”

Thorin gave a knowing hum. Halflings were far more perceptive than anyone ever gave them credit for. He pulled the hobbit down into his lap and Bilbo had to straddle the king's thighs just to stop himself from slipping backwards.

“Maybe both. Bilbo, I want to show you something.” Thorin slowly started to undress, stripping off the vest and shirt with a shy smile that was barely noticeable in the light of crackling embers. Bilbo saw the wide shoulders first when the material slipped free. His eyes danced over Thorin’s chest and down the dark line of hair that snaked under the top of his breeches. Bilbo drank in the wonders of symmetrical tattoos, covering the thick hide like a map of his life. Every battle and broken bone laid out for the hobbit to see. Bilbo felt an overwhelming compulsion to touch each one with adoration. Flawed and pitted skin a true testament to how many years the king had fought so hard to take back his home.

“Thorin.” Bilbo was breathless. The word spoken like a question, but with so much innocent awe, the dwarf’s head suddenly flicked back up. The king was terrified the hobbit would pull away until he saw Bilbo’s sweet little hand already reaching out to touch him, shaky fingertips hovering over the scar just above his heart. So deep, it was barely faded. Even with age and time. Thorin swallowed hard. He didn’t deserve so much admiration, and gently pushed the tiny hand away. The dwarf quickly moved to the freshest scar. It was still angry and pink.

“This wound - ” Thorin murmured, replacing Bilbo’s soft touch with rough prodding when he traced his own fingertips over the raised skin. “Was very deep. I don’t know how I could have survived this.” Then Thorin said the one thing Bilbo had been thinking for days. “I don’t think I should be here.” Thorin didn’t really expect a reply, so he didn’t bother waiting for one. The look of dismay splashed all over the hobbit’s face made his heart ache to know the truth. “Something, or someone, came to me in the darkness, I think. I truly have no memory of that day, but - ” Suddenly all caution was gone and the king took Bilbo’s hands in his own, stroking the back of each one in turn with the edge of his thumbs. “In my dreams, sometimes, I walk in the Halls of Mandos.”

“Oh, Thorin.” Bilbo forced back a sob. “You don’t know what you’ve done.” He now believed a spell had bound them together. A cruel irony waiting to take away the one thing the king held most dear. Ancient lore hinted that Dwarves return to the stone of the mountains when their spirits depart. Bilbo knew now the truth was so much colder. He felt a warm tear slide down his face. Thorin’s breath caught in his throat.

“Why do you cry?” The king gasped in surprise, tempted to reach up and sweep all the hobbit’s sadness away. “You should not care what happens to me.”

Bilbo sniffed, slapping the back of Thorin’s hand in frustration.

“I’m sure I shouldn’t care about a great many things, but I still do.” Despite the fact he now guessed their fates were inexorably linked somehow, part of Bilbo was irritated by the perpetual doubts Thorin threw at him every time they got close. There was a very warm, half-clothed dwarf within kissing distance, and Bilbo longed to caress every last inch of that damaged skin. “I honestly cannot fathom why you would still doubt my loyalty.”

Thorin hid a dark smile when he gestured for Bilbo to snuggle up to him, forcing his mind to relive that moment something changed between them. When the hobbit reached out for a braid, Thorin instinctively wrapped his strong grip around one of Bilbo’s wrists again while he stared deep into his eyes. Bilbo swallowed hard. Something was coming and he wasn’t sure he was going to like it.

“Can you not?” Thorin asked slowly. Bilbo shook his head (because he really couldn’t). “You stole the Arkenstone from me.” The hobbit suddenly stopped breathing, anxiously winding his fingers in the dark hair. “Oh… you thought I had forgotten, or hoped it was so.” Thorin hummed softly while he slipped one hand under the hem of Bilbo’s shirt and splayed the wide fingers across his back.

“No - ” Bilbo stammered. “I th - thought you had - ”

“Forgiven you?” Thorin finished another sentence for him, moving his fingertips in small circles over the trembling skin. “Do not fear me.” Thorin could feel the hobbit shaking. The other arm was now coiled around his waist in such a tight grip, Bilbo didn’t dare move. “I forgave you for that at our parting. But that was something I wanted you to remember.” Bilbo was stunned into a moment of nervous silence. Not sure why Thorin would bring that up now when he was holding him so close. Maybe he was selective in sharing what he really remembered. Admittedly not his finest hour, but Bilbo thought they had moved past all that king’s jewel nonsense.

“How could I forget when my own conscience will not let me?” Bilbo wasn’t sure if that was the answer the dwarf was hoping for.

“Good.” Thorin seemed pleased with the response, patting the hobbit on the bottom before finally letting him go. “We understand each other, then.” Bilbo stared mindlessly into the hearth while Thorin got dressed. Bilbo was desperate to know why his behaviour was changing again, why he was so dangerously unstable. Forcing away the fear that somehow the king would manage to use that piece of shameful information against him.

Bilbo closed his eyes, comforting his heart with a precious memory of the first time the lovestruck hobbit ever laid eyes on Thorin. Standing in his doorway, silhouetted by a midnight sky streaked with azure clouds. Moonlight catching his dark hair and picking out the shine of two perfect beads at the end of long braids. The way the dwarf studied him with a serene smile on his lips. So completely overwhelmed by such a magnificent presence, the hobbit couldn’t even spit out an articulate sentence. It was no random chance Gandalf had chosen Master Baggins to join the quest. His destiny interwoven with silver threads that now bound his life to every fading beat of a shadowed heart. _I cannot guarantee his safety. Nor will I be responsible for his fate_. Hushed words long forgotten. Thorin couldn’t have been more wrong. He unwittingly decided the little hobbit’s fate the second he stepped through the door of Bag End and unfastened his cloak.


	12. Fragile Hearts

**12\. Fragile Hearts**

Bilbo pushed out the thought of running away again, cursing his own weakness in compromising every last Hobbit principle just to make Thorin happy. Out of all the fading memories, it would have to be that bloody one that crept back in. Only making Bilbo feel worse than he already did. Thorin had snatched up the box containing the stone before he left. Bilbo suspected the king didn’t trust him one jot and that hurt more than the cut of any sword. He slinked back to his own room, still feeling more like a part of the treasure hoard than a living soul with a fragile heart. Bilbo curled up in his little bed and cried himself to sleep.

The king was pacing up and down when Gandalf swept into the throne room. Thorin didn’t even pretend to be pleased to see him.

“Tharkûn.” Thorin forced a smile. Troubles usually followed the grey wizard like crows. “I did not expect to see you again so soon.” Even after the Council, he highly doubted it was just happy chance his arrival coincided with Bilbo’s return to Erebor.

Gandalf was watching the dwarf like a hawk might size up a coney. He knew Thorin was being taken by a fierce and jealous love, no longer limited to the mountain of gold beneath his feet. Now guessing it wasn’t just the dragon sickness claiming his mind and twisting his thoughts. He coveted Bilbo. Regret only pulling at his conscience when it decided to surface. Living with the guilt of his bad decisions and the many consequences of them. Eru only knew what went on inside that braided head. The Arkenstone called to Thorin through the darkness, and Gandalf could almost see the growing shadow coiling around his heart like a viper. The king was unnaturally defensive, still tormented by the way Bilbo gazed up at him when he was squirming around in his lap. Thorin had longed to hold the hobbit in his arms and kiss the shine from his lips before another lost memory returned without warning and left him cold. Thorin suddenly remembered the grief in Bilbo’s tear-filled eyes at the end. Haunting the king, even in his waking dreams. How he wished he never accused the hobbit of being a thief. Trying hard to forget the look in Bilbo’s eyes when Thorin had slapped his backside to get him up.

“Indeed. I did not mean to stay so long, but I would give you some advice if you will lend me your ear for a moment.” The king said nothing, so Gandalf took that as a green flame to say his piece before Thorin threatened to throw him from the ramparts. “You are deeply troubled, Thorin. This I could see with my eyes shut. The kingdom may be won, but there are many outside your gate who will soon turn against you if you do not pay them what you promised. Erebor will fall if you start another senseless war. If you wish for peace, then honour your debt to the Elves and the people of Laketown. You will not have much time before Thranduil returns.” Thorin grunted something in Khuzdûl. He was in no mood to play graceful host while his patience was being stretched to the absolute limit.

“I do not permit your presence here to be instructed by you, wizard.” Thorin’s cold voice echoed through the empty caverns above the treasure vault, vibrating along the high stone walls.

“I have no intention of doing any such thing.” Gandalf replied calmly. Knowing better than to provoke someone held fast in the merciless grip of gold - if indeed it was. He believed there was a lot more to Thorin’s latest sickness than the lure of a gilded coin. “But is it good manners to cast aside the counsel of a guest in your halls, Master Oakenshield?” Thorin’s pride prickled at how easily the wizard dismissed his authority as king.

“And is it good manners to force a dwarf of royal blood to listen to advice that was not asked for? Nor wanted.” Thorin added, a barely restrained whisper.

“I am not here for you.” Gandalf continued, getting straight to the point. “I want you to let me take the hobbit to Rivendell for healing.” Thorin’s narrowed eyes snapped back to him, full of suspicion and mistrust.

“No.”

“You would see things more clearly if you felt the fresh air on your face again. Step outside your mountain, Thorin. Walk some of the way with us at least so you know he will be safe.”

“No.” Thorin seized Gandalf by the arm. “By my life, I will not let you take him from me.”

“He is fading, Thorin. This you know in your heart." Gandalf attempted again, pulling himself free. Close to grinding his teeth in frustration at the obstinacy of Dwarves. "My only wish is for him to be content."

“He is. The halfling is well taken care of, and here by his own will before you suggest otherwise.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it!” Gandalf actually laughed, but he took no pleasure from believing that was true. “He is smitten with you, and you should not take advantage of it.” Thorin didn’t like the way the conversation was headed and decided to put a stop to it before Gandalf hit any closer to the mark.

“I haven’t.” _Not yet_. Thorin forced the lustful thoughts away. He would never deserve the affection of someone like Bilbo. “And even if I had, that would be no concern of yours.” Scandalous hints thrown his way by a wandering wizard only infuriated Thorin more. It was insulting. “I will not harm him, if that is what you are implying.”

“I fear he is already damaged.” Gandalf sighed, watching Thorin’s shoulders twitch under the bristling mantle. “Keeping him here with little hope of ever seeing the sun again. There is nothing you could do to hurt a hobbit more.” Thorin knew Bilbo must miss the feeling of warm sunlight touching his face, but the hold on his heart was too strong now. He was quiet for so long, Gandalf expected to be dismissed without another word. Thorin finally turned back to face him, staring hard at the wizard before he spoke again.

“I do not keep him here. He stays because he wants to. Bilbo has always been free to wander the terraces, and tend the seed garden.”

“You know perfectly well what I mean, King under the Mountain. He lives in a cage of your making.”

Thorin was starting to feel uncomfortable. No old man in a ragged cloak would make decisions for him.

“I will rule my own kingdom, Gandalf. I have earned it.”

“Yes, you have.” The wizard conceded. Thorin was a fine warrior and Gandalf admired him greatly but he had a terrible weakness to possess, just like his father before him. “But Bilbo is my friend. Not a trinket to be picked up and put down at your pleasure.”

Thorin smiled, but the dark gleam in his eyes was startling.

“Is he not?”

“Thorin - ” Gandalf tried again, struggling to reach the conscience he knew was in there somewhere. Maybe Bilbo was in more danger than he could ever imagine. “You don’t mean that.” The king dropped his head in shame.

“No. No, I do not. But something is ill, here around my heart.” Thorin clutched at his chest. “I don’t understand what it means, but I know I need Bilbo here - with me. I feel something so strange, so inexplicable when he is near. Like every happy memory wants to break free.”

 _Yes_. Gandalf thought, keeping it to himself for now. _It’s called love_.

Bilbo was up and nodding by the fire, still waiting for Thorin to grace him with his stifling presence. The infection was getting worse, slowly bleeding the life out of him. All he wanted to do was sleep and wish the world away. Bilbo felt his heart skip with excitement when the door creaked open until Gandalf’s pointy hat appeared in the gap. The hobbit looked at him in surprise, book sliding from his lap when he jumped up in alarm. After the sorry reminder about the Arkenstone, Bilbo did the only thing he could when he thought about the implications of the wizard’s unexpected arrival. He panicked.

“Does Thorin know you’re here?” Bilbo gasped, eyes darting back to the door like he expected the king to burst through it any second.

“Calm down, my dear fellow.” Gandalf reassured. “He was not happy about it, but yes. He knows I am here.” Bilbo slumped with relief. He looked so small and weak next to the wizard, Gandalf almost pitied him. A precious little creature lost to the darkness of his own desires. There was no telling what he might become if the king continued to drain his will, and keep him enchanted by the fragile promise of his affection. Gandalf believed he had to get Bilbo away from Thorin before the poor hobbit withered away to dust. “But that is the least of my worries. It is the spell, Bilbo. Something dark twists inside him, choking the very life out of Thorin like spreading tendrils sending poison through his soul. If the magic is not satisfied soon, I fear he will be lost.” Bilbo didn’t think it was fair to paint the king with so much doubt, but Thorin was already on his way back up to Bilbo’s room. Just to make sure Gandalf didn’t try to smuggle the hobbit out of the mountain wrapped up in the folds of his cloak. “Bilbo.” Gandalf sighed. Now resting on his wand so heavily, it almost bowed under his weight. “Magic like that doesn’t just change a single life. Thorin has shifted a destiny already written in the stars, and that rift changes everything and everyone he comes in contact with. The strands of fate are so tightly woven, the fall of one man may alter the course of history.”

Bilbo practically dissolved at how terrifying that sounded. Worse still, there was nothing he could do about it now. His conversation with Legolas surged back like a wave of destruction. An endless assault of horrifying possibilities.

“Paths can be changed.” The hobbit said quietly, about as convinced by his own words as the wizard looking down at him with pity. “Blank pages overwritten.”

“In which case, they are no longer blank.” Gandalf smiled at him. “But whatever cruel game fate is playing with you both, I believe you will do what is right. The courage of hobbits is becoming legendary. I am still amazed you were never affected by all that gold.” Bilbo tutted again. Sparkly diamonds held no sway over claiming his heart. Only a handsome Dwarf king had managed to do that.

“I don’t care for any of it.”

“No, but Thorin does.” A shadow passed over Gandalf, and Bilbo suddenly saw many centuries of care and weariness carved in deep lines across his face. Such a painful contrast from smoke-rings and fireworks. He never really appreciated how much responsibility the old wizard carried with him, and Bilbo had no desire to add his own predicament to a very long list. “It will consume him until he is but a wraith of everything an heir of Durin should become, and now I believe you are bound together by something that will consume you right there with him.”

“I’m not afraid of Thorin.” Bilbo replied sharply.

“Maybe you should be.” Bilbo was getting rather annoyed that everyone seemed so determined to fix something that wasn’t broken. Perhaps there was another reason to be scared. “It is not desire for the gold in itself, but the treasure closest to a Dwarven heart. Even if the one thing they cherish most shines in a different way.” Gandalf smiled down at the hobbit again, but he didn’t seem to get it. Bilbo really was completely clueless sometimes. He remembered Legolas again. That tab had to be paid in full if the king was to live. It finally clicked.

“You mean me.” Bilbo said flatly. It wasn’t a question. Wishing with all his heart that might really be true.

“I do. Your king cares a lot more deeply for you than you have let yourself believe.”

Bilbo glanced up at the wizard with a shy smile.

“I never dared to hope that he could love me, but if Thorin won't let me go - will he die?” The hobbit’s eyes were sparkling with fresh tears, suddenly overwhelmed by the fear of losing him again. He couldn’t bear to go through that grief a second time. It would be the end of him.

“Oh, my dear boy.” Gandalf felt like he was comforting a small child waking from a nightmare. Suddenly understanding the true reach of mortal emotion. He didn't want to upset the hobbit, but he couldn’t lie to him either. “I do not know.”

“I could bloody throttle him for doing something so rash.” Bilbo was choking on his own voice. “Why, Gandalf? Why would he do it?”

The wizard suddenly remembered the look in those desperate blue eyes when Thorin spoke about how much he needed the hobbit by his side. Perhaps Bilbo wasn’t holding on to a fool’s hope after all.

“Maybe he had something to come back for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. Tharkûn : Staff-man/Dwarvish name for Gandalf


	13. Amrâlimê

**13\. Amrâlimê**

Bilbo didn’t quite know what to do for the best. Gandalf had taken the opportunity to repeat his offer to the hobbit without Thorin breathing down his neck like a protective guard dog. A year ago, Bilbo would have jumped at the chance to visit Rivendell again, but now his heart yearned to stay in Erebor with Thorin. Even without the threat of some dark magic hanging over them, Bilbo wanted to spend every last second of his life showing Thorin how much he cared for him. Gandalf knew the anger and paranoia were just a terrible product of the dragon sickness, but that didn’t make it any less real. So long as the king refused to let go of the Arkenstone, his mind would be a dangerous place. The hold on Thorin would never truly be gone until it was destroyed or lost forever. Not even Elrond seemed to know what might happen if he failed to deliver on his promise to the one who brought him back.

Gandalf still doubted such a cold shadow would spawn from a divine creator, but there were few in Middle-earth who had the power to bring back a spirit. Thorin couldn’t subdue the fear of not knowing what was said between Bilbo and the wizard while they were alone. There was something happening inside him. Something he couldn’t control, and not least the way the hobbit made him feel. All the uncertainty just fed the fire of his emotional instability. Dangling on the edge of sanity whenever he felt threatened. So scared Bilbo might want to take Gandalf up on his proposition, Thorin pushed the door open with a little more force than he intended.

“Bilbo.” Thorin commanded, without a single word of greeting. “Come here.” The king reached out one hand to tempt the hobbit closer, and Gandalf inhaled a sharp breath when Bilbo obeyed without question. “What has he said to you?”

“Nothing.” Bilbo stammered. “We were just talking.”

“Did he not ask you to leave?”

“Thorin.” Gandalf placated. “Bilbo’s wound is now beyond my aid. I have no wish to steal him away from you. He can return when he is healed.”

“Do not lie to me.” Thorin growled, sparing a jealous glance at the wizard. Oblivious to all reason. “Is that not what you plan to do? Rend him from my side, where he belongs.”

“No.” Gandalf argued. “It is almost impossible to separate you from him, and it would be cruel of me to try.”

“I will do what I must to protect my treasure. Do you understand?”

The infected bite had spread poison into the hobbit’s back. Bilbo felt sick with pain every time he moved, but he kept it from Thorin.

“Even at the cost of his life?” Gandalf gasped. Thorin leaned in close. There was no disputing the sincerity behind his eyes.

“Even at the cost of mine.”

Thorin didn’t wait for a reply. Heart pounding so hard, the wizard could see blood pulsing against his throat. Bilbo should probably be alarmed by the possessive glint in those dark eyes, but all he felt was an unexpected tingle of arousal. Embracing a submissive streak he didn’t know he had. _Well, that decision made itself_.

“Thorin.” Bilbo rushed to the king’s side, gently stroking the back of the dwarf’s hands to calm him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Gandalf was speechless with disbelief. The hobbit was in so deep he would probably melt away to nothing if they were parted. He supposed that must be what happens when you get a second chance to be with the one you love. The wizard was tempted to snatch Bilbo away from danger and carry him all the way back to The Shire in a sack if he had to. Thorin almost sank with relief. He knew his romantic attentions were bordering on psychopathic, but he had no experience in trying to court his One. No idea how to love. Every flutter in his stomach, every warm throb low in his belly when Bilbo touched him was confusing and wonderful all at the same time. Thorin had longed to possess many things during his exile but the way he desired Bilbo was so intense, he couldn’t think about anything else.

The stiff tension was suddenly broken by the call of a loud horn. Resounding down the mountainside and ringing through the valley below. Gandalf was so grateful for the distraction, he practically fell over his robe to see what all the commotion was about. Bilbo ran to the terrace. Peering over the edge with a smile so wide, it almost split his face apart. Suddenly waving down at two dwarves he never hoped to see again. He grabbed Thorin’s hand and yanked the stunned king along behind him, stumbling through the halls in his haste to reach the gate.

Bilbo could feel the tears of happiness prick at his eyes. Fíli and Kíli had returned from the Blue Mountains once Dís was satisfied they were both alive and well. Anxious to check in on Thorin to make sure he was healing (Fíli wasn’t ready to inherit the rule of Erebor just yet).

Thorin’s smile was a beautiful thing. His strong profile silhouetted by Winter sunlight like the touch of a golden kiss. Bilbo knew he was staring, but he couldn’t seem to look away. Many years of toil appeared to fall from his shoulders when the king hugged his heirs in turn before Fíli lifted Bilbo clean off the ground and squeezed him for all he was worth.

“What in the name of Mahâl are you doing here?” The dwarf laughed, giving him another bear hug. “No one knew what happened to you, but I’m so happy you’re back.”

“Not as pleased as Uncle, I bet.” Kíli grinned at him. His brother kicked him in the shin to shut him up. “Are you staying?” They all looked at Thorin. He was standing rigid as stone, both hands curled up in tight fists. Bilbo blinked at him.

“I think so. If the king will have me.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will.” Kíli smirked. The boys knew Thorin better than anyone. They grinned at each other, never missing all the furtive glances Thorin had cast the hobbit’s way when he didn’t think anyone was watching. Or that their king had given Bilbo a mithril shirt that outweighed the value of the whole Shire and everything in it. A gift fit for a consort, in fact. Thorin looked so mortified, Fíli decided to put him out of his misery.

“Let’s go find Bombur.” He threw one arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and steered him back inside. “I’m so hungry, I could eat a dragon.” The boys headed straight to the kitchens. Bombur was already at work on an industrial size pot of mushroom soup and Bilbo heard his tummy grumble in anticipation. “Come on, Master Baggins. Sit by me. Tell us what happened to you - and don’t leave anything out, mind you.”

“Well, there’s not much to tell.” Bilbo said modestly. “I never wanted to leave. Gandalf sent me away.”

“And Thorin didn’t throw him off the mountain?” Kíli whistled, propping both of his muddy feet on the table. “Well. He had a lucky escape then.”

“Why would Thorin want to do a thing like that?”

The brothers shared another knowing glance. Bilbo was so innocently sweet, it wasn’t hard to see why any virile Dwarf would be unable to resist him.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Bilbo. Sooner or later.” Kíli added. “You belong here, with us.”

The hobbit tutted and stood up, trying to dodge the interrogation in favour of helping Bombur to wash up. Aimlessly wondering how a handful of dwarves could possibly get through so much crockery.

“I don’t imagine a stray hobbit is very important to the running of Erebor.”

“I think Uncle would disagree.” Kíli continued to prod at him with loaded hints, and was enjoying himself way too much to be polite. Bilbo wondered exactly what line of conversation they shared between them on the road. He couldn’t forget how Thorin had looked at him earlier. Bilbo was pulled from his hopeful thoughts by the sound of hysterical enthusiasm. “And I do believe your hair has grown, Master Hobbit. You’ll be mistaken for a Dwarf, if you’re not careful.”

“I’m sure the king would have no objections.” Fíli offered. “Ask you to grow it down to your arse, most likely.” Bilbo glared at the dwarf over one shoulder. He heard Bombur chuckle beside him. “Don’t worry, you’ll be perfectly safe unless he offers to braid it.” The ruthless silence dropped like a stone. Bilbo still wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Kíli almost fell off his chair in delight.

“He has, hasn’t he?” Bilbo wriggled like a fish caught on a hook. He didn’t need to say anything. The scarlet glow on both cheeks was all the evidence they needed. “So, can we call you Aunty Bilbo now, then?”

The hobbit threw a damp cloth at his head, but Kíli was too quick and dipped out of range with another laugh.

“Not unless you want me to use that so-called beard as a pan scrubber.”

Despite the merciless teasing, Bilbo felt his heart swell with affection. How he had missed the soft sound of their carefree happiness, their bright eyes twinkling. He would have willingly hacked off a limb to see them smile again, but no one knew what future awaited them now. This must have been what Thorin wished for, even if his own memory was gone - that his line would endure. In spite of the warmth in his heart knowing Durin’s heirs were alive, Bilbo felt his stomach sink. They too were bound up with the fate of the spell. Thorin had unwittingly rewritten the destiny of all those he cared for.

Bilbo went back to his room after dinner. He was still weary and sore in places that hadn’t seen the light of day for as long as he could remember, but his heart felt much lighter. Just seeing Fíli and Kíli alive was the best medicine any hobbit could ask for. He was already stripped down to a shirt and smalls when he heard a tentative rap at his door. Bilbo grabbed a fur wrap from the bed and covered most of the naked bits before he pulled it open. Thorin was standing on the other side looking for all Arda like he was about to throw up.

“Thorin?” Bilbo seemed surprised to see him. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes.” Thorin said quickly. “No.”

“Well, which is it?” The hobbit was starting to shiver with cold, never certain which of Thorin’s many moods would surface first.

“Bilbo, I wanted to say sorry for the way I acted.” Bilbo’s head was spinning at how easily the king could flick through his emotions on the toss of a coin. “Despite what Gandalf thinks, I do not wish to keep you here by force.” Thorin was starting to drown in his own confusion. The growing shadow had almost killed his light, and Bilbo was terrified the one he loved might be taken away from him again. He could hardly stand it. Hobbits always thought it best to be honest, and today was no exception.

“You don't. But I’m so scared for you. I don’t know what all this talk of magic means, Thorin. I thought I lost you once. I don’t think I could go through that pain again.”

If Gandalf had been listening, he might have understood why he picked Bilbo as a thief from the beginning. Stealth and cunning just a couple of the many hidden talents the hobbit never knew he had. But when he needed inspiration most, he was completely helpless, with no idea how to stop any of it.

“Your wizard seems to think there is a storm coming, and I want you to be safe.”

“He’s not my wizard.” Bilbo smiled. “Besides, I don’t want to be anywhere else. I sometimes wish I had never gone home at all.”

Thorin took in a deep breath. He needed to know if his love would ever be returned.

“Bilbo? Why did you come back?” Thorin asked, low and breathless.

“For you, Thorin.” Bilbo admitted, in a whisper. “I came back for you.”

“I want you to stay here, bunny. Stay with me.” Thorin stuttered, hoping beyond all hope that Bilbo truly cared for him.

“I want to.” Bilbo was filling up again when he thought about all those lonely nights in Bag End when he cried himself to sleep. “But you don’t understand. I thought you were dead, Thorin. I couldn’t even imagine how I was supposed go on living without you.”

Thorin could see the hobbit’s eyes shining with emotion.

“Don’t cry, my treasure. Amrâlimê, look at me.” The king took Bilbo’s face in shaking hands, caressing the soft skin of the hobbit’s cheeks with rough fingertips like he almost expected him to pull away. But Bilbo just tilted his head, staring up at the king with wide eyes. Moist lips slightly parted as if he was waiting for Thorin to cover them with his mouth. Thorin finally kissed Bilbo, soft and deep. Bilbo hummed through a cascade of pleasure while he tried to catch the breath Thorin had stolen with his tongue. Thrusting it so hard between his lips, the king could taste the sweetness of him.

“Thorin.” Bilbo murmured, lost in bliss.

The dwarf reluctantly pulled away. Fearing he had made a terrible mistake until Bilbo flung himself back in and ravaged Thorin’s mouth until his lips were swollen and pink. They cuddled up together under the fur while Thorin carefully slipped a silver bead from one of his braids.

“I will thread this through your hair when it is long enough, and if you are willing.” Thorin could feel his heart beating fast in his chest, not sure his token would be accepted. _How Kíli would be revelling in his own glory tomorrow_. “For now, I would ask you wear this as a promise.” A promise Bilbo wasn’t sure Thorin could keep while he was being taken by a spell. Bilbo let the king slide the bead onto his smallest finger. Fitting him so well, it might have been made just for a hobbit. He didn’t want anything to spoil such a perfect moment, but their time was running out. Bilbo was getting weaker and Thorin’s spirit was fading into darkness. Now the king had a new memory no one could take away. Thorin got to fall in love with Bilbo all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. Amrâlimê : Love of mine/My love


	14. Sunlight On The Water

**14\. Sunlight On The Water**

Thorin had left Bilbo dozing on the bed just after midnight, wrapped up in pelts with the moonlight dancing on the silver band around his finger. He was so sleepy lately, a dark shadow of his own slowly devouring the little halfling from the inside. The king was deep in denial about how weak the hobbit had become. Blind to all else now their first kiss had sparked an obsession to steal Bilbo’s heart. The touch of soft lips against his own had sent a rush of desire coursing through the king’s body. Tearing himself away from the hobbit before Bilbo noticed just how much those passionate kisses had aroused him. Even if Mahâl decided to take him tomorrow, Thorin could die happy.

Bilbo awoke late, admiring the beautiful promise ring on his finger and daydreaming about the night before. Bofur had been instructed to bring the hobbit down to the treasure hall, but he had no clue why. Usually the last to know anything. Bilbo eased his failing body up on his elbows when he heard the door open.

“Come on, sleepy head.” Bofur grinned at him. “The king wants to see you.” He suddenly stopped short when he spotted the new addition to Bilbo’s hand. “Bless my beard. So that’s why Thorin has a bead missing. I wasn’t the only one to notice.” Bilbo held it up to the light with pride. “Kíli’s been pestering him about it all morning. That’s wonderful.” Bofur sensed some hesitation. “Isn’t it?”

“I don’t completely understand what it means.”

Those brown eyes were shining with delight. Of course, the hobbit didn’t realise the significance of such an important gesture. Bofur was practically preening, so excited he would be the one to share that monumental press leak with his friend. One of the few merits of being a Dwarf.

“Bilbo, not many of us ever take a mate. Not enough females to go around, for starters. But it isn’t just that. Dwarves believe we all have a One. A soul mate, if you like. And we only love once, if we get lucky enough to find them.” Bofur patted Bilbo on the hand. “I’m still waiting.” He sighed. “Well. I never thought I’d live to see the day that miserable bugger would fall in love.”

“Has he always been like that?” Bilbo asked quietly. “So serious, I mean.”

“He’s always had a lot of responsibility.” Bofur shrugged, subconsciously defending the king he loved. “Thorin had no interest in searching for a One. But I know he would never let you wear that unless he was absolutely convinced he had found his.”

“Goodness.” Bilbo gasped, heart positively pounding with joy.

“Aye. Thorin couldn’t have made his claim on you more obvious if he dipped you in gold. It seems our king has finally set his sights on taking a consort. Now you’ll be for it, Bilbo.” Bofur winked at him.

“Oh.” The hobbit murmured, mind wandering off in many delicious directions. Reminded of the way Thorin had hungrily captured his lips in a kiss, stroked Bilbo’s tongue with the tip of his own. Imagining one day soon Thorin would put those large Dwarven hands to a more productive use. “That makes me very happy, really it does.” Bilbo tried to smile.

“But?”

“Oh, Bofur.” Bilbo could feel his eyes start to sting. “It’s all I ever wanted, for Thorin to love me. But something isn’t right. What if it’s all just a hopeless dream? I couldn’t bear it.” Bilbo dropped his head in his hands. Surely fate wasn’t cruel enough to take Thorin away from him a second time.

“Hey.” Bofur sat down next to Bilbo on the bed and slipped a sympathetic arm around his shoulders. He had grown very fond of the hobbit. Seeing him on the edge of tears was unbearable. “Thorin’s almost healed. I know he’s been acting a bit strange lately, but no more than usual.” It drew a faint smile from Bilbo’s mouth. Bofur tried to help him stand, but Bilbo almost collapsed in his arms. Suddenly overcome by a burst of nausea. The dwarf could feel the heat radiating off his body like a firebrand. Bofur bit his lip, not being particularly successful in hiding his concern. “Let’s go together.” He added kindly. Bilbo leaned heavily on his friend all the way down the steps. Thorin was waiting patiently for them under a high archway, bright glimmer of golden coins illuminating his handsome face. Bilbo felt all his doubt fade away.

“You wanted to see me?” The hobbit forced himself to stand up straight.

“I did.” Thorin smiled, reaching for his hand to lead him into the vault. “I wish for you to choose a token, Bilbo.” Dwarves always showered their intended with precious gifts to prove they were worthy suitors. Even wracked with gold sickness, the king wanted Bilbo to know he was now considered to be the most valuable treasure in Erebor. “Anything you desire.” Bilbo let his eyes speak for him. Showing Thorin there was only one thing he wanted, and it wasn’t a lifeless stone.

The tender moment was broken when Balin suddenly appeared in the space beside him, and he didn’t look very happy. The old dwarf pushed himself up on his tiptoes to whisper something in Thorin’s large ear, and the king’s eyes slid to one side. He looked fit to burst with anger, striding out of the hall with poor Balin chasing at his heels. Bilbo stumbled after them, trying hard to keep up while Thorin raced to the ramparts to get a better view. There was a sizable company of Elves gathered on the other side of the river. Thorin stormed back inside while Bilbo watched a disturbing scene unfold. He could just make out the sway of a grey robe moving on the path below. Bilbo shielded his eyes from the sunlight while he watched Gandalf head across the stone bridge to meet Thranduil and one of his ambassadors. His golden hair blew around his face, eyes stinging from the bright glare. Now pale and shivering, he looked like he must have lived all his life in a dark cavern under the mountain. Shattered body, and the weight of the ring in his pocket threatening to drag him deeper into darkness. Again, he was reminded of the shadow Gollum had become. Their fates were not so very different. Bilbo had wanted to give his heart to the king since the night he first swirled into the hobbit’s life like a hurricane, and turned it upside down. His pain was so bad now, Bilbo believed he might have to leave soon - even though he really didn’t want to. Secretly hoping the king would change his mind and accompany him to Rivendell. The sinking feeling in his stomach only intensified when he realised Gandalf might ask the Elves to help get him away from the mountain. Legolas had shared some of what Bilbo told him, worried the little hobbit might be held against his will if the curse of Durin took control.

The Elvenking cared little for the plight of a single halfling. He was more intent on upholding his claim. Determined to set right the theft of Thingol, many hidden treasures of their race still lying forgotten in the gem mountains inside Erebor. He would never recover the Silmarils for his people, but white diamonds came a pretty decent second. Gandalf only came back to the mountain when the woodland king rode up to the gate. Bilbo was the only one who might be able to persuade Thorin to relent.

“You must speak to him, my friend. King Thranduil will be more inclined to agree to terms if Thorin shows some act of amnesty between the kingdoms." Gandalf had warned. "His stubbornness will be the end of him.” Bilbo had to savour every second they could spend together before magic or a very determined wizard decided their fate. Bilbo tore himself away and headed back to the royal chambers. He felt a lump of fear bob in his throat. Despite the silver promise, the king was so unpredictable lately. Bilbo never knew what to expect. Completely irrational in his jealous hints at betrayal, and not just for the stone. Thorin often shot accusatory glares at anyone who dared to even look on Bilbo. Almost everyone he saw as a threat. Dwarf, man, elf. It didn’t seem to matter. He was even brooding when the messenger raven got a bit too much attention. It was exhausting.

Bilbo usually soothed Thorin with loving patience until the king was calm again, but sometimes, the precious moments Bilbo cherished above all others, the king would pull the hobbit onto his lap and sing a gentle lullaby in his pointed ear. Wrap him up in a shy hug and bury that ridiculous nose into his shoulder. If Bilbo hoped it was to be one of those times, he was going to be disappointed. Thorin was seething. Bilbo heard himself groan, but it was lost to the noise of Dwarven boots pacing the stone. It took the hobbit a good few minutes to get him to stop, eventually persuading him to sit down by the hearth. Even then, the darkness behind his blue eyes was still there. Haunting and cold.

“Elves.” Thorin spat, with contempt. Possessively cradling the Arkenstone in his hands. “I see their minds. Plotting against me so they can take the only thing I truly care for.” Bilbo felt a stab of pain in his chest. Not sure if Thorin meant him, or that bloody lump of rock. He kneeled between the king’s thighs and cuddled up to him.

“You mean the stone?”

“What?” Thorin blinked down at him. “Is that what you think?” He looked so hurt, Bilbo wasn’t sure what to say. “No, bunny - you. You are my heart, but that jewel holds such a sway over my mind I cannot forsake it.”

“Thorin, please.” The hobbit begged, when the king absently bent to kiss his hair. Bilbo gently touched their foreheads together, hoping the closeness would break through the insanity and kindle his darkened heart. “Then let it go. Be free of it." Bilbo knew they couldn't live on fresh air forever. "You could satisfy Bard, maybe even exchange it for supplies?" The king suddenly lunged forward and grabbed the hobbit by the arm. Bilbo flinched, but he didn’t pull away. It wasn’t Thorin’s fault he was being taken by the madness of his line.

“I would rather starve to death in an empty mountain than be in debt to the mercy of some… some _dragon slayer_.”

In a different life, Bilbo might have understood. The ring of power he carried in his pocket could crush even the strongest will. He may never know how hard it was to give up something like that. Holding your mind so completely, everything else in the world just falls into shadow. Fractured images of those you once loved fleeting past the corners of your eyes like grey ghosts.

It was the same for Thorin and the Arkenstone.

“Thorin - ”

“No, Bilbo. _My Bilbo_.” The king breathed, voice softening in a rare moment of clarity. “I cannot.” The hobbit could see how those two words burned Thorin's throat and forced the bile from his stomach. The little halfling just stared up at him with so much hope and faith in his eyes, Thorin had to turn his face away. “I desire it, but I also fear it.” _Yes_. Bilbo thought. _He could understand perfectly well what that felt like_. “Fear of what it may do to me.” Thorin’s eyes were now glassy black, serious as dragon fire. “What it might make me do to you.” The king knew he could never let it go. No more than he could toss it into a fire or cut out his own heart just to stop it from wanting. “But it is too beautiful a thing to hide away.” Thorin stroked the stone with a seductive touch. “See how it shines like silver in the firelight, like water in the sun, like snow under the stars, like rain upon the moon."

“I do not wish to look on it again.” Bilbo whispered quietly. He was still ashamed of betraying Thorin, and not altogether pleased it was back inside the mountain. Bilbo suddenly heard a calm voice echo from his past. His mother lulling him to sleep with a gentle touch. How he wished he could see her again, one last time. She would always comfort him when he was sick with fever as a fauntling to give him hope. Hope that one day he would have everything he ever wanted. _When you least expect it, right in the middle of an ordinary life, your true love will give you a fairy tale_. Belladonna had promised. Bilbo closed his eyes in acceptance. Thorin _was_ his happy ending. “I believe in you.” He persisted, despite giving his skin a little rub where Thorin had gripped his arm. The attempt at innocent charm seemed to be working, and Bilbo intended to milk the opportunity for emotional blackmail to the very last drop. “Pay your debt to the men of Laketown and the Elves.” Thorin’s eyes were suddenly sparkling with regret. “If you care for me at all, let it go.” The king stared down at the jewel in his hand, watching the white fire swirl inside it. Tempting Thorin to fall into a living death from which he may never return.

“If I care for you?” Thorin whispered, torn between his two heart’s desires. “Do you _still_  doubt that?” The hobbit shook his head. He took in a deep breath.

“No, and I don’t want to spend one more second of this life without you.” Bilbo slowly drew the tiny acorn from his pocket and held it out to the king. “I don’t think you ever realised how much you mean to me.”

 _If only love was that simple_.

“You kept that all this time?” Thorin stared at the seed in amazement. “Carried it all this way?”

“Yes. It was all I had left of you. Nothing on Middle-earth would have made me part with it.”

Thorin’s desire to tell Thranduil where to shove it faltered. Just for a second. Sketchy images of being laid out in cold death seeping back in through the ragged edges of a sickened mind.

“You were my dying wish, Bilbo.” Thorin admitted softly, handful of lost memories suddenly returning when he gazed at the little acorn. Resigned to whatever fate awaited him now the king was resolved never to let anyone take his tiny treasure away from him.

“What?” Bilbo thought he might faint. “What did you wish?” His mind had blanked most of it out to stop his heart from aching. He fished around in his head to try and recall the last words Thorin said to him before the end.

“For you to go home and plant your trees, watch them grow.” Those hushed words were just too much. Even if it was a cruel trick to free his emotion, the hobbit didn’t care. He burst into tears.

“But I didn’t want that.” Bilbo sobbed. “I wanted to be with you.” All Bilbo longed for was to care for Thorin. Adore, and cherish. Show his king what it was like to be loved above all else. “I would give my life for you.” He added, not knowing he might one day have to prove it. Soon as the little hobbit opened up his heart to the king, he knew they were lost. Casting away all doubt and sealing the spell - once and for all.


	15. Inside Information

**15\. Inside Information**

Thorin was so moved by such a sentimental declaration, he held Bilbo close against his chest and hugged his little body tight. The hobbit melted into him. Drying streaks of damp trails on both cheeks had pulled at decaying heart strings. Thorin wasn’t yet so defeated by shadow not to feel _something_. The halfling was still wedged between his knees (a rather appealing position the king could definitely get used to). He ran his thick fingers through Bilbo’s hair. Smiling at the erotic image that invaded his mind while he hushed his love to try and stop the tears from falling. Outside the stone walls of their perfect haven, the sky was growing dark. Thorin’s public claim on Bilbo had set in motion the fateful consequences of a magic that couldn’t be stopped until the king willingly repaid his debt with the one thing he held closest to his heart. Thorin tilted Bilbo’s head up with a gentle press of one fingertip, staring into the abyss of those eyes like he wanted to drown in them. Two deep wells of heterochromatic perfection.

So many beautiful gemstones lay glittering in the hall below his chambers, but Thorin was only obsessed with the two precious things that warmed his hands. He pulled Bilbo up onto his knee, Heart of the Mountain nestled between them. The hobbit couldn’t deny he once felt drawn to its enchantment, but he was a simple soul. It was nothing compared to the living, breathing (invariably sullen) breathtaking king he had fallen in love with one starry night in April. Gandalf once wondered if the stone was one of the missing Silmarils. Really, they belonged to the Elves but were admired by many. The wizard long since dismissed the idea it might have been the one lost by Maedhros. It was said that the fate of all Arda was spun about them. Thorin’s fate had more to do with Bilbo’s tearful admission, and that the king now saw the hobbit as his most prized possession. Not that any self-respecting halfling would be particularly impressed by the comparison.

Bilbo played aimlessly with the adorned braid. Starting at the end, and slowly working his way up one of the tresses. He slipped off the silvery bead with nimble fingers and examined it with adoration. A little thrill of delight made his stomach flutter knowing it matched his own. Losing himself in the feeling of Thorin’s beard suddenly brushing against the skin of his throat and up to the curve of his ear. The hobbit felt a hard press under his thigh and held his breath. Thorin fumbled blindly for the Arkenstone so there was nothing hindering his access to the soft body squirming around on top of him. Bilbo soaked up the sensation with a little burst of satisfaction. At least some intimate attention had encouraged someone to put that blessed stone down for more than two seconds at a time. Bilbo remembered what Lord Elrond had said when he walked with Gandalf in the moonlight. It seemed so long ago now. _Long ago and far_ _away_. Maybe there was some hope he could cling to. Thorin’s father was driven mad rather by grief than the need to protect the jewel from a dragon he never expected to make a house call.

Bilbo’s thoughts scattered, willingly letting his king grope every part he could reach. It is said that the skill of the Dwarves is in their hands rather than in their tongues, but judging by the way Thorin was licking at his neck, Bilbo was rather inclined to dispute that. The powerful caress moved to his lower back and then, hesitantly - down a bit more with a touch that left Bilbo panting for air. Well. The king certainly seemed intent on showing his hobbit exactly why that valuable piece of information passed into legend.

Bilbo fell helpless in the determined grip. Sometimes he secretly wished Thorin coveted the Arkenstone more. Legolas' fateful warning echoed through the sensual haze. If he could convince the dwarf to give it up, then they could settle the spell and the hobbit knew he would be safe. Maybe it would be that anyway. Little did they know, the cost was already determined. Thranduil had been given a mission. Shiny diamonds would have to wait for now.

Outside the gate, it was clear a decision had apparently been made. The Elvenking summoned the royal guard to his side, having no doubt Thorin’s dearest treasure would be the Arkenstone. He was wrong.

Legolas sneaked ahead under the murky cover of a strange mist that seemed to hang above the mountain like a harbinger of doom. Bilbo heard his melodious voice drift up from beneath the open window. Reluctantly slipping out of the dominating hold on his waist and peering down into the gloom. His presence was so unexpected, the hobbit couldn’t find anything to say. Legolas' expression was a canvas of many emotions, and that’s a big ask for an Elf.

“What are you doing?” Bilbo called down in alarm. His lips were still tingling from Thorin’s kisses. If Legolas noticed, he said nothing. “Has something happened?” Bilbo could feel his legs start to shake. Apparently, the time for talking it out over a pot of tea had come and gone. “Does your father intend to attack?” Bilbo knew from bitter experience if anything threatened Thorin, he would go in like a battering ram, sword swinging. The hobbit paled at such a terrifying thought. Thirteen battle-weary dwarves and a halfling with a blade the size of a letter opener didn’t stand a chance against an Elven army.

“No.” Legolas shook his head. “Actually, it’s worse.” Bilbo had to hold on to the wall just to stay upright. “I came to warn you. Please, come down. We don’t have much time.”

Thorin just blinked in surprise when Bilbo rushed past him. The dwarf would never admit it, but he tagged after the hobbit like a puppy called to heel.

 _Oh dear_. Bilbo panicked, as he tripped down the steps. That didn’t sound very good. The hobbit wished he could recall exactly what Legolas told him on the edge of the shadowy forest that day. Something about treasures and hearts. _Bother it_. Bilbo cursed his crumbling memory. He did remember telling the elf something he never actually said to the king. Not in words, anyway. He loved Thorin. Loved him with everything he had. Then it hit Bilbo hard. Legolas had innocently delivered a dreadful premonition in his own tongue. The king had to give up the light of his life to hold on to his own.

Gandalf had been watching the chaos from a safe distance, holding back until he felt compelled to intervene. Trying to reason with an over-protective Dwarf was completely pointless. Bilbo tumbled breathlessly down the last few steps and ended up with a mouthful of robe when he collided with a very surprised wizard.

“Gandalf, what’s happening?” Bilbo clutched for the comfort of his staff. (Mainly to hold himself up, if he was honest.) “Prince Legolas wants to see me.”

“So I understand.” The wizard sighed. “We have no choice but to meet beyond the gate.” Thorin point blank refused to let a single elf step foot inside the mountain in case he caught something. Bilbo drew back just in time for the king to grab him by the wrist when he reached the trembling hobbit.

“Go to our rooms.” He commanded, pulling the little body close before Bilbo had chance to pick up his jaw. Not entirely sure when Thorin’s bedchamber had become shared territory. Took pride resented being spoken to like a disobedient child, but the king was just scared. Stoic façade masking a flicker of fear so well concealed, Bilbo almost missed it. “You will be safe there. Please, Bilbo.” Thorin reached up to stroke his cheek. “Do as I ask.” Bilbo watched him muster the other dwarves with growing unease.

“Why is he being like that, Gandalf? What’s wrong with him?”

The wizard gently coaxed Bilbo away from the heat of Thorin’s fire, and the eyes burning with rage. He hardly noticed the two of them slip away into a shady alcove. The king swept into the throne room, barking instructions to Dwalin. The ponies were to be saddled up so a small company could ride out for parley.

“I told you once before, dear boy.” Gandalf looked so serious, it made Bilbo’s heart pound. “There is nothing more consuming than the treasure closest to a Dwarven heart, and that greed, that overwhelming need to possess only cuts deeper when threatened by its loss. Thorin cannot hope to overcome this while you are here, and you refuse to leave him.”

“I never refused.” Bilbo said quietly, staring at the blank space between his furry feet. “I do not wish to leave him, that’s not the same.”

“No, it is not.” Gandalf replied sadly. The hobbit’s loyalty was never in doubt, but the wizard didn’t need a palantír to show him Bilbo’s selfless devotion to the king would not end well. “But the consequences are.”

There was nothing more to be said about that. One - or both of them (most likely) would be lost in any case. Bilbo reluctantly decided on securing as much damage control as possible. His entire soul felt like it was being crushed under the weight of the mountain. The broken heart of an insignificant Hobbit counted for little when pitted against the value of Thorin’s life.

Bilbo had to make a decision. He ran to the gate before Thorin realised he was missing, collapsing in agony when he reached the boundary of the courtyard. Legolas caught him in his arms before he hit the floor. The look of despairing pity staring down at him said it all.

“I’m so sorry, Bilbo.” The hobbit felt his heart sink. “I don’t know what to do to help. Ada has decreed you must accompany us back to Mirkwood.”

“Me?” Bilbo murmured, in astonishment. Slowly hauling himself to unsteady feet. “Why?”

There was that subtle hint of understanding again. The elf suspected Bilbo must have captured the king after all.

“Do you remember what I told you at our last meeting?” Bilbo just nodded. “Thorin must relinquish the thing he loves best to complete the spell. No offence, but we all thought he would have to give up the Arkenstone.”

“Yes.” Bilbo whispered. “None taken.” Legolas felt his own heart go out to the little hobbit. He really was adorable.

“But as you see, the magic knows better than yourself what you love most.”

“So, it is me.” Bilbo sighed, chest so tight he could hardly catch a breath. Blissful happiness cruelly marred by the terrible consequence of finally securing the one thing he desired most. Thorin’s heart.

Thranduil reluctantly agreed to meet the dwarves on the plains. A fragile sanctuary of neutral ground. Dwalin had somehow managed to convince a rampaging king to at least find out what all the fuss was about before decapitating anyone. Live to fight another day.

Thranduil looked like a carven statue while he waited, his usually calm mind a turmoil of confusion. A spirit had sent visions in a waking dream, with a single message that resonated over and over as if the disembodied command had crawled inside his soul. _Take the halfling_. Someone must have called the king’s spirit back from the void.

Gandalf went on ahead and talked with the Elvenking at length. The wizard looked completely spent when they returned together. He tried to smile at the hobbit, but it wouldn’t come.

“I do not yet understand how this charge is his to command, but there it is. You must go with the Elves.” Gandalf was very worried about Bilbo’s safety, but he could formulate a more productive strategy in the morning. “For Thorin’s sake.” He added, in a whisper. Sensing the Dwarf king ride up behind them with Fíli and Kíli at his side.

“Is there nothing we can do?” The hobbit pleaded. His round eyes were frantic. Much more concerned for the king than his own little self.

“No, Bilbo.” Legolas touched the tiny hand in sympathy. A rare gesture from a Mirkwood elf. Bilbo felt sick. He had only just promised himself to Thorin, and already the shadow was closing in.

“Valar do not - ” Thranduil seemed to be searching for the right word. “Negotiate.”

Thorin looked like he was about to implode.

“Do I have any choice?”

“None. The magic of ancient ones is permanent - ” Thranduil answered slowly, sparing Legolas a glare of disapproval. Despite the calm mask of nothingness the Elvenking always wore, that sounded like a fateful warning. “ - and binding.” Bilbo felt his lip tremble. Not that he wouldn’t happily chop off every golden lock on his head to be Thorin’s forever, but Bilbo would rather they had some time to decide what to do. Hobbits didn’t trust magic. It took days for even a fraction of the king’s memories to tentatively filter back. Who knew what else might be hiding in a spell crafted by Eru himself? There was something so unnatural about the whole blasted affair, it made the hobbit very nervous. Even an immortal king apparently knew better than to mess with it. Just when Bilbo thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, Thranduil said something that chilled his poor little body to the core. “I will give you a day to prepare his effects. Then I will send my guard to collect him and bring the halfling back to the Greenwood.”

Thorin bit down a Khuzdûl curse before giving Thranduil a curt nod that made his neck stiff with the effort.

 _Oh, you scrawny little pixie_. Thorin held back a dark smile. _You most certainly will not_.

“Come, Bilbo.” The king said softly, lifting the hobbit onto a small grey pony. Leading it away by the reins with a grip so tight, the worn straps of leather bit into his palm. Bilbo never said another word until the gate of Erebor slammed shut behind them.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bilbo knew the consequences of trying to screw with fate, but he still felt a bit put out Thorin hadn’t fought harder to keep him. “I thought you wanted me to stay with you in the mountain.”

Thorin stared up at him, the blue of his eyes almost lost to the black irises that stretched wide like spreading ink.

“Do you think for one minute I would let that faithless sprite take you away from me?”

“But you agreed.” Bilbo stammered. “You conjured up that damn spell, Thorin. You have to honour it.”

The king was almost too calm. Bilbo felt a knot of fear settle behind his ribs, the conversation with Gandalf still fresh in his mind.

“Not if I can find another way.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, Master Baggins.” Thorin replied, a secret plan forming in his head like the gathering of dark clouds just before they unleash a tempest. “That you should never underestimate Dwarves.”


	16. Fateful Decisions

**16\. Fateful Decisions**

Balin rushed to help when he saw Bilbo slide from the pony with all the grace of a limp rag. Herding him inside like he was a stray lamb that had wandered away from the fold without permission. Bilbo tried to catch Thorin’s gaze over one shoulder while Fíli practically scooped him up and carried a very bewildered hobbit back up the stairs, protecting the royal squeeze at all costs. The boys knew better than to risk the aftermath of Thorin’s wrath if anything happened to him. _No point in worrying the consort-to-be_. Balin mused to himself, employing the same diplomatic fervour he always displayed when the king’s demands needed satisfying.

Mahâl made the Dwarves strong enough to endure suffering, and Balin had weathered many of Thorin’s tirades over the years but he had never seen him look so - _broken_. He could sense a violent maelstrom swirling just beneath the silent surface. Balin liked it better when the king was swearing and throwing things. At least then, you knew when it was over. Gandalf gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat.

“I’m sure Thorin appreciates your efforts.” The wizard said kindly. “We must all try to be patient now his very life is at risk.”

“I don’t understand all this talk of magic and spells.” The old dwarf shook his head, suddenly pained by a distant memory of watching the same warmth slowly fade from Thrór’s eyes. Fíli quickly told him what had happened outside the gate when he whirled past in his haste to make sure the treasure of Erebor was safely tucked up in the king’s bed. “I just put it all down to gold sickness.”

“Perhaps once it was.” Gandalf leaned on his staff. “But I fear this is something much darker. Thorin should have died of his wounds after the battle. I don’t understand why his life was spared. There are many powers in the world, for good or for evil, Master Dwarf. Some are greater than I am. Against some I have not yet been measured.”

Maybe his time was coming.

“I can try and talk some sense into him. Decide what he wants to do about that beardless… _ashnakh_.” The dwarf added, with a curse. “I know one thing. Thorin won’t let Bilbo go.” The stern expression soon disappeared when a little smile twinkled behind his eyes. “I saw the bead on his finger.” Balin leaned in close and whispered to the wizard behind his hand like he was parting with a state secret. “Thorin intends to wed him.” For the first time in his extraordinarily long life, Gandalf was lost for words.

Bilbo had been waiting hours for the king to return. Passing the time by exploring the contents of a small chest next to the bed. Mindlessly sifting through many coloured gemstones and the carved beads Thorin used in his hair just to give his hands something to do.

The dwarf finally returned late into the night. He stormed past like a cold breeze before slumping in front of the dying hearth without a word. Sulking on a majestic scale while Bilbo waited in anxious silence. He was still upset Thorin neglected to share his plan to trick the spell, and it left the little hobbit feeling even more insecure than usual after the surprising display of indifference. Bilbo didn’t expect Thorin to challenge the Elvenking in a fight to the death for his honour, but a vague hint of objection might have been nice. Bilbo played with the beads for a few more minutes until he could stand it no longer and marched over to Thorin to drag his attention away from the firelight.

“Bilbo.” The shadow by his side seemed to stir the king from a secret reverie. “What’s the matter?” _Oh, Mahâl - he was definitely simmering_. Thorin heaved in an enduring sigh. “Something has upset you.”

“How very perceptive of you, my king.” Thorin rubbed at his face. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night when he saw those plump lips pressed together in defiance. “Why do you say that you care for me?”

Thorin didn’t answer right away, but the smirk soon disappeared. Jealous pride suddenly pulling at his confidence. Bilbo had been locked up in the king’s chambers since they returned to the mountain. Thorin had dug his metal-capped heels in and refused to let the hobbit out of sight. The inevitable fallout of being accidentally in love with a cute little bundle of temptation that made Thorin leak testosterone every time he set eyes on him.

“Because I do.” Thorin replied slowly. “But you deliberately disobeyed me.”

 _Hmm_. So that was it. Bilbo knew he should be insulted, but somehow, he wasn’t.

“I had to know, Thorin, and you’re not thinking straight.”

“So, you doubt me?”

Bilbo froze. Thorin had doubted _him_ so many times, his mind cast back to a chilling image of the king when he discovered the truth about the theft of a stone that meant so much to him. Thorin had grabbed hold of the hobbit, angry teardrops welling in his eyes. _Do not speak to me of loyalty_. Those long-dried tears told Bilbo nothing could hurt the king more than being betrayed by someone he trusted. Bilbo wanted so much to regain that faith he wantonly destroyed.

“No - ” Bilbo said carefully. Drawing out the last syllable just enough to show his concern, but not long enough to piss off a very touchy dwarf. “But I might be more willing to believe in you, if you told me the truth.”

“Oh, you are a clever one.” Thorin whispered. “Even now, you twist my affection to try and shame me.”

“That’s not what I meant. Thorin - ” Bilbo tried again, much more sincerely this time. “I love that you want me to be yours alone.” He gently stroked the king’s hand. “But there are much better ways to show it, and we need to decide what to do. Thranduil said that spell was binding.”

“What spell?” Thorin growled in frustration. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Bilbo’s own heart ached for him. They already took his memory. Happy memories of their journey and all the history they had together. That was what really hurt. Bilbo was still haunted by the moment when he first saw the king again. The stony gaze of impassive detachment that forced tears to his eyes. The hobbit still remembered every look, every smile that gave him hope on the road. Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to tell the one he loved that his spirit was slowly being consumed by the curse of a Shadowheart.

“You remember some of it, I think. Even when you try to block it out.” Denial was a wonderful thing. “You told me what you wished for, but what if you actually _asked_   for something else?” Bilbo imagined your moral compass might slip when faced with the threat of eternity.

“I remember the cold.” Thorin said unexpectedly. Shattered images had faded in and out behind his eyes while his life ebbed away. Forcing his mind to remember the emptiness that surrounded his dying body. There was only one chink of light in that sunless void. One thought that echoed in his head and warmed his heart when everything else seemed so dark. “And you, my love.” Thorin cradled Bilbo’s face in both hands and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “All I could see was you.” The king pulled the hobbit close and breathed him in. “What if I lost you?” He mumbled something into his beard that sounded suspiciously like a curse before dragging in a shaky breath to compose himself. Thorin couldn’t even think about that. Skittering between cherishing and possessive so fast, Bilbo gasped in surprise when he felt himself being gathered up in those huge arms and carried back to bed. He was pinned helplessly in a nest of furs when the dwarf climbed over him and threw one leg across Bilbo’s thighs. If his current mood was anything to go by, the hobbit daren’t imagine how Thorin was going to react when the Elven guard arrived to collect him.

Despite the beautiful comfort of Thorin’s embrace, Bilbo couldn’t forget Gandalf’s words. _That overwhelming need to possess only cuts deeper when threatened by its loss_. Bilbo cuddled up to Thorin as a pliant distraction. The only power a little hobbit had to fight the growing darkness.

“I don’t know what to do.” Bilbo buried his face in Thorin’s shoulder, and the king didn’t hesitate to smother him in another suffocating hug. The choking coils wreathed around his heart were taking control, but the fear of losing Bilbo was stronger.

“I will not let anyone take you, mesmelimê. I swear it.” Thorin murmured into his hair. Bilbo didn’t doubt that for a second, but he could see how much the king was hurting.

“What do you plan to do, then?”

Thorin looked away. He didn’t want to lie.

“I will not even speak of it.”

“Why?”

“Because I have no intention of letting you go.” Thorin replied, never one for subtlety. Bilbo blinked at him. The king suddenly drew back, familiar insecurity rising up again. “Did you not agree to stay by my side when you accepted my token?”

“Well, yes... I mean - not really.” Bilbo faltered. “I didn’t know about exchanging beads. I’m not a dwarf, Thorin. You knew I wouldn’t understand what that meant.” Bilbo wilted inside when he saw a fleeting glimpse of how strong and terrible Thorin might become if he gave himself over to shadow. There was a wildness in his eyes that made the hobbit’s blood pulse faster, and most of it went south.

“Do you intend to give it back?” Thorin’s eyes strayed to the band of silver in alarm.

“Of course not.” Bilbo pulled a curled-up hand to his chest. Somebody would have to bite his bloody finger off for him to ever part with it. “I want to be with you. Always.” The hobbit added, with a sad smile. “But we can’t be together if you don’t clean up your mess. Something happened that day, Thorin.” Bilbo wriggled under the warm weight of Thorin’s body, but he was stumbling. It was almost impossible to form a single logical thought when Thorin was looking at him with so much desire in his eyes. “Something you must try to remember.”

Thorin let his hands speak in answer. Releasing the writhing hobbit before pushing him down onto his back. Determined to spread Bilbo out and admire the soft sheen of his milky skin against the dark pelts. Thorin held Bilbo's arms down so hard it left two little marks of claiming before searching for the hem of his shirt so he could lift it up. Soon stroking demanding fingertips across Bilbo's bare skin while Thorin cooed over him, murmuring promises of forever into one pointy ear.

“Are you happy lying here?” Thorin hesitated, not sure Bilbo understood what he wanted to do to him. “In my bed.”

“Yes.” Bilbo flushed pink. Then realising he might just unleash a monster, he tried to squirm free. He wasn’t ready.

“I will wait, if you do not wish to.” Thorin forced out, dampening down his throbbing ardour with the heel of one hand. “I want so much to make love to you, amrâlimê. But you are not yet fully healed.”

 _If he did not wish to_. Bilbo almost smiled. That was the stupidest thing Thorin ever said.

“I want it.” Bilbo looked up at the king through seductive lashes, a shy smile playing on his lips. He could think of nothing he wanted more than to feel Thorin move inside him, but he was scared and confused. That would hurt so much more if they were torn apart. “But my heart is heavy with the fear of what might happen tomorrow.” Thorin caressed Bilbo while he savoured the view of a perfect expanse of silky skin. He suddenly stopped when the hobbit flinched in pain under his touch. There were deep purple bruises spreading out across his side like little branches. The wound in the centre was still raw. Red as a cut ruby. Thorin tried to hide how much that disturbed him, and quickly covered the hobbit back up.

“I understand. You need to rest, bunny.” Thorin sat up with a sigh of disappointment. “Do you wish me to carry you back to your room?”

“No, thank you.” Bilbo turned onto his side and pulled both knees up to his chest. “If the king has no objection, I think I would like to stay here.”

Thorin smiled down at him, caught in a rare moment of peace.

“Come, then.”

Bilbo curled up in the refuge of absolute safety only Thorin could give. The king stared into the darkness for a long time, holding Bilbo in his arms until he finally fell asleep. Thorin looked so pale, even in the flickering candlelight. The hobbit waited until he heard the deep breaths by his side. They seemed so heavy and laboured, like he was struggling to draw in enough air. Both of his large hands were cold where they rested clamped together across Bilbo’s back. The hobbit knew in that moment what Thorin refused to accept. He was already growing weaker. The shadow would devour him until there was nothing left. Gradually draining the life out of both of them because they couldn’t bear to be apart. Bilbo felt tears fill his eyes again. Thorin would never let him go.

Bilbo decided he would have to take matters into his own hands. Thorin was too stubborn to see any alternative to locking him away with the rest of his precious hoard. He must sacrifice his own happiness to keep Thorin alive. The hobbit had felt that pain a hundred lifetimes over when he was mourning the love he lost. _But to keep him alive_. That would be a bittersweet victory. The king might be a few arrows short of a quiver most days, but he lived still. He had air in his chest, and fresh blood in his veins. There was never any real choice to be made, and it only made Bilbo unhappier because he could see the wisdom of it.

He found Gandalf sitting on the terrace in the dark with a pouch of Old Toby resting on his knees. The wizard gestured for Bilbo to sit beside him, handing him the pipe without any word having to pass between them. They both knew what he had to do.

“I will go.” Bilbo sighed softly, insides melting into a puddle of despair. Thorin ignoring his people and obsessing over halflings was no way for a king to behave. “I will go to the woodland realm and keep Thorin alive.” Hopefully he would get eaten by giant spiders on the way and fate would put him out of his misery. Bilbo presumed his death would somehow cancel out the magic, no matter how undignified the ending. “There is no other way.”

“I will walk some of the path with you, Bilbo. If you are resolved in this.”

“I am. You told me once that true courage is not about knowing when to take a life, but when to spare one. I want to spare Thorin. Even at the cost of my love for him.” Gandalf was suddenly humbled by the kindness and mercy of such a beautiful soul. The hobbit fell silent again, not sure how he could live another single day without his king. Bilbo felt like he was slowly falling apart. Piece by tiny piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. Ashnakh : Traitor  
> Kh. Mesmelimê : My jewel of all jewels


	17. A Matter Of Honour

**17\. A Matter Of Honour  
**

Gandalf knew the hobbit had a point, despite believing someone like Bilbo giving up his freedom would tear at his nature-loving heart like a rapier. If what the Istari knew about the Huinë-enda was even half-way true, there was only one way to make sure Thorin would be free of the curse. He must keep his end of the bargain and give up the thing he loved most - Bilbo. Maybe Thorin could somehow move on with a life he exchanged for such a terrible sacrifice.

“I fear you are right.” Gandalf sighed. “You will have to go away, but I wouldn’t want to be in slashing distance when you share that with the king.” Bilbo hung his head in shame while he fiddled with a button. “You’re not going to tell him.” The wizard murmured, with concern. “That will not improve his temper. Why would you keep that from him?”

“Because he won’t let me go and I can’t just sit back and watch him die. Never, never again.” Bilbo shivered at the memory. “I would rather spend a lifetime locked up in a tower alone than have his death on my conscience.”

Gandalf glanced out across the slopes of Erebor. Everything seemed so calm in the moonlight. He was trying to forget how different it would look in the morning when a company of determined Elves arrived to take the halfling away.

“He will come for you, you know that.”

“Yes, I know.” Bilbo managed a little smile, even though it felt like his entire world was crashing down around him. “But I need some time to find another way.” Bilbo remembered how Thorin sometimes stared at him in the same way he did when he touched the Arkenstone. Intense was an understatement. “What choice do I have?”

“None.”

Gandalf’s mind was suddenly drawn back to memories of the enchanted river that cut a dark path through the dense maze of Mirkwood. Starting to believe it was no coincidence that the duty to take the hobbit from Thorin as payment was given to Thranduil. Gandalf once warned the dwarves an ancient magic lay upon that forest. The river shone black, full of hidden secrets where it flowed from its source in the mountains towards the Elvenking's halls. Strong currents were not the only danger that awaited weary travellers who strayed from the path. Anyone who drank from that water risked falling into a deep sleep. Sometimes they never awoke, and if they did they would be forever changed. Memories forgotten. Maybe there was more to that than Gandalf imagined, but someone would have to honour the sacred contract Thorin was now peeing all over. So protective of the hobbit, he would never submit to something so basic as logic. Thorin should have listened to the prophetic warnings. Not that any of it mattered now. Bilbo’s hope was slowly disappearing like fading lines.

“That’s what I thought.” Bilbo wiped the back of one hand across misty eyes. “I have to try and buy him some time, at least. Thorin is blind to the consequences of what he has done.”

“My dear Bilbo.” Gandalf replied. “Hobbits really are amazing. I knew you would do the right thing.”

“If it’s so right, then why does it feel like my heart is breaking?” Bilbo blinked, eyes shining in the dim light.

“I do not think it wise for me to answer that.” Gandalf slowly stood up. Leaving Thorin would be hard enough for poor Bilbo without thinking about what he lost. The wizard had taken it upon himself to watch over Durin’s sons, and he had failed them. Gandalf still felt painfully responsible for putting the idea in Thorin’s head in the first place. “Go back inside. Rest, if you can. Spend one last night with your king.” The wizard held out a weary hand to pull Bilbo up when the hobbit’s eyes grew round in surprise. That was the last thing he expected. “Give him that.” Bilbo searched over his shoulder, sifting through the darkness that now shrouded the king’s chambers. _Yes_. Bilbo thought, a small burst of anticipation pulsing inside him. _He could give his love some comfort before he crept away_. Maybe make it easier for Thorin to wake up to an empty space beside him.

Bilbo wished Gandalf a teary goodnight with the promise he would meet him outside the mountain at first light. He wanted to try and get out before anyone else was awake. He hated having to sneak around like a thief in the night, but Thorin would likely shackle him to a wall if he even suspected what the hobbit planned to do to save him. Bilbo could see the strong contours of the solid body in the stray shafts of moonlight when he returned. The hobbit had sometimes assisted the king when he prepared for bed. Helping Thorin out of all his armour and untangling those damn braids was a logistical nightmare, but here - he had him. Warm and responsive, almost naked under the soft pelts, and Bilbo was determined to take advantage of it. He soaked up the glow of tanned skin, perfectly decorated with artistic lines of ink. Bilbo imagined they had some deeper meaning but learning Khuzdûl was a work in progress. Bilbo took a moment to admire the way his sculpted chest rose and fell with the breaths of peaceful sleep. He really was beautiful. Bilbo felt his stomach heave at the thought of leaving him.

“Am I dreaming?” Thorin murmured, slowly shifting onto his back. Bilbo hushed him and curled up between his legs. Easing them apart with loving patience while he tried to force away an impossible pain that filled his soul. Bilbo could hardly focus on giving Thorin the pleasure he deserved, but he kept going. Running his tiny fingers along the inside of Thorin’s thighs while he sprinkled little kisses all the way down his stomach. Lovingly touching his lips against the many scars of long-forgotten battles. Thorin moaned above him, jerking his hips up when Bilbo dipped his tongue a little lower. “Bilbo?” The king’s ragged voice was only just above a whisper. Caught somewhere between hope and uncertainty. Not sure if his mind was still clouded by sleep or daring to believe the tender mouth worshipping his body was real. Bilbo just hummed against the base of Thorin’s stomach, tracing his fingers higher and rubbing firm strokes up and down his cock until the king grew hard in his hand. He heard Thorin draw in a tight breath above him, eager fingers suddenly scrambling for purchase in Bilbo’s hair while Thorin gave himself over to the intoxicating thrill of arousal. “You don’t have to - ” It went unfinished, the word dying on his lips when Bilbo slotted his little body between the king’s thighs.

“I know.” Bilbo whispered, bending his head to take the thick girth deep into his mouth. Thorin groaned with pleasure, forcing his hips up again to meet the ardent thrusts of a wet tongue while Bilbo licked and sucked at him. Thorin’s whole body trembled with desire, eyes fluttering shut again with the unfamiliar sensation of shaking fingers wrapped around his shaft. Thorin dug his fingertips into the furs beneath him, twisting them in his hands when a warm tingle started to rise up inside him. Mouth dropping open in ecstasy when Bilbo’s little sounds of appreciation vibrated against the sensitive skin. Thorin panted Bilbo’s name through a string of Khuzdûl curses, growling when he sensed the pressure start to build. Bilbo felt a violent twitch fill his mouth, a fractured gasp spilling out above him. His cheeks were hollowed out, sweat beading on his flushed skin. Wide fingers were still tangled possessively in his hair while Bilbo milked Thorin's release from him. The king gently pushed the hobbit down until he could hardly breathe, finally pulling away when Thorin came with a guttural cry of satiated bliss. Bilbo planted an affectionate kiss on the tip before wiping the back of one hand across his mouth. Snuggling up to his love. One last time. Aimlessly smearing his fingers into the sticky mess that coated Thorin’s belly while they fell asleep again.

Bilbo was packed and ready to go before the rosy light of dawn started to shine on a far horizon. He could still taste Thorin in his mouth, savouring the precious memory on his tongue. Bilbo prayed to the Goddess he could get away without anyone seeing him, but he was out of luck. Fíli suddenly appeared beside him like he was training for a special ops mission. Always popping up when Bilbo least expected it. He felt his stomach drop into his toes.

“Bilbo.” The young dwarf greeted him warmly, but his happy smile soon faded when he saw the hobbit was dressed for a hike. He looked very nervous, mindlessly twirling the silver band around his finger. Even in the darkness, Fíli could see Bilbo had dried tear stains trailing down his face.

“What’s the matter?” Fíli asked in alarm. He really did love that little halfling, and seeing him look so sad pulled at every inch of his heart. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You’re one of us.”

Bilbo wanted to cry. All he ever hoped for was to be accepted, loved. Thorin had cared for him, treated him like one of their own but he still had so much to learn about a culture the hobbit had taken as his own the second he let Thorin slip that bead on his finger.

“I’m not though, am I? Not really.” Bilbo could hear his voice breaking. He hitched up his pack and wiped fresh tears from his cheeks. A last-ditch attempt to convince his wavering resolve that he was doing the right thing. “Please try and understand.” The hobbit added, in a whisper. “I am willing to give up my own life to save his.” All chance of slinking away unnoticed was now cast to the wind. Bilbo heard heavy footsteps pounding down the passage. It was hard enough to withstand one burning glare of disappointment. Adding another sentimental dwarf to the pile wasn’t exactly top of his to do list.

“What are you doing?” Kíli gasped breathlessly, running up behind his brother. The same fear sprang to his eyes when he looked between them. Fíli hesitated while he watched the hobbit with dawning understanding.

“He’s leaving.”

There was so much hurt in his voice, Bilbo couldn’t even look at him.

“Please, Fíli.” Bilbo begged, one hand reaching out to his friend, the other gripping the strap of his satchel while his stomach twisted itself into knots. “Don’t try to stop me. It’s the only way.”

“Only way to do what?” Fíli pushed Bilbo’s hand away, frustrated tears welling in his eyes. “Break Uncle’s heart?”

“Fíli - ”

“But you promised, Bilbo.” Kíli interrupted, both of his deep brown eyes now trained on the silver bead. “Pledged yourself to him. Oh, I know he can be hard work sometimes, but you don’t realise how important you are to Thorin. Uncle has never loved before, never even looked for a mate.”

“Never?” Bilbo gasped.

“Never.”

“Oh.” Well, that certainly didn’t help to send Bilbo running to Thranduil.

“You don’t understand what that would do to him. It’s not just for you, Bilbo. It’s for our people, our kingdom.” Kíli took Bilbo’s hand, gently stroking Thorin’s token between his fingers. Only a Dwarf would really understand the significance of what that meant. “Uncle wants to rebuild Erebor with you beside him. Why would you want to take that away from him?” Kíli didn’t wait for an answer. Bilbo felt horrible. This was much worse than taking that stupid jewel. Now he was torn between saving Thorin’s life or defiling his honour. The king had always kept his beard trimmed as a sign of shame, still in mourning for Thrór. Never taking off the rings he wore in respect for all those he had lost. Bilbo suddenly realised how hard Thorin had fought to reclaim Erebor in memory of his forebears. Salvage some semblance of dignity for a forgotten line. “I know what Gandalf said about a curse, but if you refuse Thorin now you will betray him. The king hasn’t come through fire and death to have it all destroyed by his love for a little hobbit. The risk of being taken by any spell is nothing compared to that.”

“But none of you realise what would happen if I don’t go to Mirkwood. Thorin is getting weaker. He will get worse with every second that passes if I stay here in the mountain.” Bilbo was close to collapse, hardly able to see at all through the water blurring his vision and taking away what little he had left of his voice. “He’s dead, anyway. I have to do something.”

Kíli didn’t seem to get it. Selective hearing apparently ran in the family.

“Why would you want to make him think you don’t love him?” That cut was the deepest. “Please… don’t do that to him.”

Bilbo felt something break inside him. He couldn’t do it. Not if there was even a chance Thorin would really believe that. The tense silence was shattered. The Elves had come to take Bilbo away, and his chance was lost.

Thorin was already on the ramparts when Bilbo went to find him. The king had panicked when he realised the hobbit was gone. He was pacing the walls, scanning the ground below. Frantic blue eyes darting between the many elves gathering outside the mountain while they searched for Bilbo in the morass of anonymity. Thorin was shaking, and it wasn’t from the anger building inside him. His desperation was at critical. Struggling to subdue the crippling fear of being abandoned by the one who had claimed his heart. The relief was almost tangible when Thorin saw the hobbit running to meet him. Not a single word needed to pass between them. Bilbo clung to Thorin’s hand as they watched the elves come ever closer. Tips of their spears sparkling like shiny insects crawling over the lands below.

The magic was strong, and cruel. Here they were again. Back on the walls of Erebor facing a hopeless siege. Maybe destiny can never be changed. Only the path you take to reach the same destination. The king drew Orcrist from its sheath when the Elven guard reached the outer gate. Not sure why Fate kept taking them in ever decreasing circles. Now it was Thorin’s turn to decide what he loved most. Bilbo, or his life.


	18. Master Of Dreams

**18\. Master Of Dreams**

Bilbo gently placed one little hand over Thorin’s where it was gripping the hilt of his sword.

“No.” The hobbit said softly. “There must be no more killing. Please, Thorin. Enough blood has been spilt already.” The horrible memory of so many souls lying dead and unburied after the battle still haunted tormented dreams. He never wanted to see a massacre like that again.

“Bilbo.” Thorin was easily swayed by the small hand caressing his own, and Orcrist soon dropped limp at his side. “What were you doing?” Thorin ranted, eyes wild with fear despite the sweet drench of relief flooding his body. “Did I not say you must stay with me? That you were needed here?” Bilbo hung his head. Believing Thorin was furious with him until the king suddenly pulled the hobbit into his arms and held him so close, Bilbo could hear the faint thud of his heart. A heart that was still beating with enough strength to give him hope. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.” The deep voice had lost its hard edge, now silky and full of tender promise. Thorin kissed the top of Bilbo’s head while he trembled in the crushing embrace. All chance of leaving Erebor was gone beyond recall or desire now he could feel the heat of the one he loved warming his skin.

Bilbo finally managed to coax the dwarf back inside the safety of the mountain, but it was small comfort. Thranduil would never leave until he had Bilbo in his clutches. An Elf knew better than to keep Ilúvatar waiting. Eru never usually intervened with the lives of his creations, and the Elvenking knew there must be something more to his desire to trade Thorin’s spirit for an insignificant scrap of a halfling from a race often overlooked by so many. He ordered his guards to set up camps by the gate. Thranduil would not risk any more of his people by fighting. Thorin would eventually fade if he didn’t let Bilbo go, and then his armoured escort would be free to take the hobbit anyway. _No_. Keep them besieged until they surrendered or succumbed to starvation. Let the dwarves eat their bloody gold if they were too stubborn to see reason. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an Elf. He could wait.

Bilbo didn’t know how much longer they would be able to stay together. Precious time slipping through their fingers like sand spilling from a broken hourglass. The hobbit prised the blade from Thorin, quickly stashing it away in favour of a less perilous temptation. (Although that was debatable when he saw Thorin was now stretched out on the bed and reaching out one arm towards him.)

“We cannot hide in here forever.” Bilbo was effortlessly drawn back to him, craving Thorin’s rough touch like a moth to a flame. Recklessly hurling himself back into danger until every damn wing was singed off. He would do anything to see his love smile again. “However nice that would be.” The hobbit added, crawling up the furs so he could let the king wrap him up in another bruising hug. Bilbo felt Thorin stir nervously against his side.

“Bilbo?” Thorin made a hesitant attempt at conversation when his mind was drawn back to the parting gift his love had honoured him with when he returned from the terrace. Not sure it wasn’t just a perfect dream until he saw the puddle of his release still drying on his stomach when he awoke. “I wanted to ask you about last night.” Thorin stumbled, hardly able to say the words. Bilbo felt his cheeks grow warm at the erotic memory. He hummed in answer, but that wasn’t what Thorin meant. “Were you going to leave me?”

 _Sticklebacks_. Bilbo already made a silent promise in his head never to lie to Thorin. Never betray him. Prove his loyalty and love with so much passion, the king would never doubt him again. He suddenly remembered what Fíli had said to him before the storm broke. _Well, yes. But Thorin would never understand why and the truth wouldn’t be the answer he wanted_.

“Hush.” Bilbo shuffled across the bed and curled up between Thorin’s knees before pressing one fingertip against his lips. They parted easily, and Bilbo dipped his finger inside. “I’m still here, aren’t I?” A seductive enough distraction from actually answering the question. Thorin suspected that anyway and it turned his blood to ice at the thought of suddenly being rejected by someone who openly wore his token of betrothal. He aimlessly stroked Bilbo’s hair where it was tickling his cheek.

“Is that why you – you know.”

Bilbo smiled against his shoulder. Thorin really was adorable when he was shy.

“No, Thorin. I did that because I wanted to.” Bilbo would have happily let the king take him right there if he hadn’t been so scared. He wanted their first time to be special. Beautiful. Thorin also longed to have that touch again, have _all_ of it. He let out a shallow breath, and just held the hobbit tighter. “I always wanted you.” Bilbo whispered quietly. “Even from the beginning, I think. I tried to tell myself I didn’t care if you never loved me in return. Suppose I thought you wouldn’t really want someone like me when you had so many other things on your mind. In my heart, I was still in love with the Shire when I agreed to join the quest. The woods, the fields. Little rivers. It all made me feel so alive, but I wasn’t really. Not without you.” Bilbo closed his eyes and rested his head on Thorin’s chest. Every childhood memory fading into a meaningless past. He was willing to give up everything he had ever known to stay with his king.

“My love.” Thorin murmured beneath him. Those gentle words calmed his fears. Stayed his anger and pulled his mind away from the gathering threat outside. If only for a while. Thorin willed himself to recall small snatches of Bilbo’s speech after the Company made it through the Misty Mountains. _Why did you come back?_   Thorin had asked him. Humbled by the hobbit’s dedication to the quest, and his selfless desire in wanting to help the dwarves reclaim their home. Thorin fell in love with Bilbo in that moment, but he kept it locked inside his heart for so long. He wished many times since that he had told him before the end. Had that time to show his little burglar how much he cared for him. Erebor would never be a home now without the light that Bilbo carried inside him. The warmth of his soul that filled Thorin’s life with happiness. He even tried to tell him when the eagles soared above his broken body, but each painful breath had only served to keep him alive. Just a little longer. Long enough to realise he loved Bilbo before closing his eyes for the last time.

The hobbit seemed to slip in and out of consciousness while Thorin held Bilbo in his arms. Left alone and daydreaming. Trying so hard to remember what else had passed between them on the road while Bilbo drifted through restless sleep. He was so weak now. The poison surging through his body on top of an emotional battering over the last couple of days had chipped away his strength and drained the life out of him.

Thorin had a nauseating twinge of conscience when he looked down at his hobbit. Bilbo had been so deprived of sunlight trapped in Erebor. There was no respite. None of the solace he got from breathing the free air in Mirkwood when they passed through the Wood-elves' realm, and a thousand butterflies fluttered above the golden leaves of Autumn. The king felt sick. Gandalf told him there was nothing more damaging than keeping a hobbit in a cage. Even one with gilded bars. Holding Bilbo in the mountain would be the death of him without the healing he so desperately needed, but Thorin would never agree to just hand him over.

Bilbo stirred when he felt Thorin move against him, mumbling incoherent nothings into the soft pillows. Thorin gazed at him for a long time. Impulsively bending his head to kiss Bilbo hard on the mouth, but the hobbit didn’t wake.

“I do not know how I came back.” Thorin admitted at last, scared to say it too loud even though Bilbo slept on. “But I think it was for you.” Thorin always believed Dwarves made their own luck, but now he wasn’t so sure. Something just felt all wrong inside him, but the choice was made a long time before that day. So set in his mind, Thorin’s decision might have been carved in stone. He would be watching every move Bilbo made in case the hobbit had another stab at doing something stupidly heroic.

Gandalf had already spoken to a very tearful hobbit early that morning before Thorin was awake. Just after his run-in with two determined dwarves who convinced him to stay, even though Thorin might die. Bilbo had pasted over his blinding fear with romantic delusion. _Love has no ending_. He told the wizard when he warned Bilbo of what would happen if he didn’t slip away while he had the chance.

 _Oh, my dear boy_. Gandalf had sighed (with far too much pity in his eyes for Bilbo’s liking). _A Shadowheart can never love. Not completely_. Bilbo had given the wizard a mute nod, but he had seen love in those blue eyes when they stared back at him sometimes. No one else would ever understand.

 _Legolas told me Elf-magic isn’t dark_. Bilbo had answered slowly. But there was something very dark about Mirkwood. The hobbit still remembered that place, and not with fondness, if he was honest.

 _There could be nothing more damaging to Thorin’s mind than the water taken from that accursed stream. Maybe that is why he can’t remember much of your journey together. I never believed so much of his memory could be stolen by death alone. An ancient magic dwells beneath those trees. Magic from the dark places underground_. The wizard had replied. _Well - whatever, or whoever it was, had enough power to bring your king back from the halls of his fathers_.

 _Yes, Gandalf_. Bilbo took in a deep breath, his sad voice full of resignation. Thinking about how easily he could have lost Thorin forever. _I know_.

Gandalf had taken his leave from Bilbo as dawn came. Scaling the slopes with the vain hope of knocking some sense into Thranduil. Maybe come to some compromise. It seemed rather unlikely under the circumstances, but the wizard intended to try anyway. Poor Bilbo was in no shape to ride out a siege, let alone be dragged off to an enchanted forest and offered up like a sacrificial lamb. The wizard had merely set his mind to wondering about Irmo, or Lórien, as he was sometimes called. He had control over dreams and desires and was one half of the Fëanturi. Masters of spirits if Gandalf recalled correctly, and he usually did. Now he really thought about it, the origin of Thorin’s curse couldn’t be more obvious if someone hit him over the head with his own staff. Finally cementing the nagging doubt that had refused to leave him alone since he heard Thorin lived. Only one question remained. _Why was it so dark, if it came from one of the Valar?_   Maybe the old legends had been twisted into many versions as they passed through the mouths of common folk with little better to do than embellish a bedtime story for their fauntlings.

Outside the mountain, far beyond the borders of Erebor at the Southern edge of Mirkwood sat a sleeping malice that already knew the path. Divine spirits had no physical form. They could hide from mortals if they so desired, but sometimes they assumed another shape. A shape one of them chose to take when he revealed himself to Thorin.

And still Bilbo slept on. Tossing through the burning delirium while his dreams grew more lucid. A voice called to him in the sleepy haze. Remote, but clear enough for him to understand the words. He thought it sounded like Mithrandir at first, but it was softer somehow with a wisdom that could only come from many centuries of existence.

“Do you wish to stay with Thorin Oakenshield?”

Bilbo heard himself answer, but his mouth was closed shut.

 _Yes_.

“Always. Whatever the cost. Whatever the sacrifice.”

 _Yes. Anything. I love him_.

The voice seemed to hum in approval.

"Your king’s heart has been tainted. He must free that curse with light. Look to the power of the stone, Bilbo."

_What stone?_

"You know of what I speak. Why you felt so drawn to it. Something you knew could save him." Bilbo turned over with a whimper, and Thorin’s arm tightened around his little body, but still he slept. Irmo could manipulate the hobbit’s thoughts and walk at will through his secret dreams. "Some things I see, perian. A true heart’s desires. Even some things that may one day come to pass." Irmo perceived without Thorin, Bilbo would never marry. Never fall in love again. Bilbo still couldn’t imagine why a lovesick halfling was so important, but this was never just about Thorin’s dreams and his deepest longing. The fading vision smiled down at the hobbit with a grace only an immortal spirit could possess. "There is a child, Bilbo. A child who will one day hold the fate of all your world in his hands."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qu. Perian : Halfling


	19. King Under The Mountain

**19\. King Under The Mountain**

Thorin was staring at Bilbo with concern when the hobbit finally opened his eyes. Spending the last hour twitchy and restless, locked in the king’s arms. The blue gaze was so powerful, Bilbo could feel a blush creep over his cheeks.

“What?” He turned his face away, suddenly flustered by so much profound attention.

“What were you dreaming about?” Thorin asked slowly, almost accusatory. “You were mumbling in your sleep.”

“Sorry.” Bilbo wriggled his little body free with an exaggerated yawn, not entirely sure he should share that monumental news with Thorin just yet. The ethereal words still echoed in his head while reality rushed back in to a waking consciousness. If the prophetic vision of their child was real, there were only two implications to that (and both terrified him). Bilbo never considered the consequences of a Hobbit coupling with a Dwarf, but still thought the whole idea preposterous. He never heard of anything like that before, and there were definitely no Shire records on the matter. That would be far too scandalous to immortalise in ink. “I don’t remember.” Bilbo could have slapped himself. He hated holding back the truth but supposed that wasn’t quite the same as telling a lie. “I didn’t realise I was so tired.” But Bilbo wasn’t just tired, he was sick. Sick to the point of being all but oblivious to the menace of shiny golden armour at the gate. All he wanted to do was lose himself in Thorin and forget the rest of the world outside. Thorin carefully pulled Bilbo in between his legs, smiling against rosy lips with a gentle kiss. Nothing in his long lonely life had ever compared to the feeling of a warm soft hobbit pressed up against him. A bright light in a once dark world. Thorin buried that impossible nose in Bilbo’s curls and fumbled for the bead on his finger. The silver trophy denoting this radiant soul would one day belong to him completely. It was almost lost in his huge hand.

Thorin stroked a comforting caress up and down the hollow of Bilbo’s back while he reached over to grab the box by his bed, dropping a handful of gems on his chest between them. The king cosseted Bilbo, adorning the hair of his intended with jewels as a sparkly distraction. Refusing to give in to the fear of losing control. A legacy he tried so hard to leave behind in the troubled past of Durin’s line. Bilbo lay still and responsive, his body moving in sync with every breath Thorin drew. The king picked at a stray thread of golden cotton that edged his tunic and wound it around one deft finger.

“Here.” He murmured, separating some of the wayward strands of hair resting on the hobbit’s cheek. “I think this bit might be long enough to make a braid.” Thorin was itching to make their bond official and frowned in concentration while he pulled a section between his fingers. Weaving the thread through a small tress before securing it at the end with a clumsy knot. Thorin bit off the spare with his teeth. He longed to sink them into the silky throat, but still he held back. “Give me your hand.” Bilbo wearily lifted his arm. He was so very tired. Thorin carefully slid the bead from his finger and pushed it over the lock of hair. Affectionately tucking the tiny braid behind Bilbo’s ear when he was finished. “There, perfect.” Thorin felt a wave of possessiveness swamp his blood. “Now when you walk through the halls of Erebor, everyone will know you are mine.”

Bilbo smiled against the strong chest, Thorin's heartbeat thumping like a faint echo beneath him.

“I don’t think that’s breaking news.” He yawned again, too exhausted to fight it anymore. “I’m happy, really I am.” Bilbo’s eyes were soon closing again. “But I want to rest just a little longer, Thorin.”

“Stay then, my heart. Stay and sleep.” Thorin’s words skittered over Bilbo’s tongue when he breathed them into his mouth. “I have matters to attend to.” Bard had apparently returned to try once more for some small recompense to help rebuild the city Smaug had so recklessly destroyed, and Balin was getting jittery. The bowman didn’t support Thranduil and knew nothing of the curse, but a bargain made with honour should still stand. “I would feel much better if you agreed to remain in our chambers, anyway.” Thorin wouldn’t put it past a bunch of Elves to scale the walls and pluck Bilbo from his bed. The wilting hobbit flinched in pain when Thorin wrapped him up in one of the many pelts that littered their rooms. “Bilbo?” Thorin asked uneasily. Voiceless concern building with each new day that passed without some small hint of recovery.

“It’s nothing.” Bilbo mumbled, swatting away the king’s hand and falling back into the pillows with a sigh. “I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t fine, and Thorin knew it.

The king was still anxious and pacing when he literally bumped into Gandalf. The wizard had gone to check if Bilbo was alright, but that was soon answered when he saw the dark look on Thorin’s face. Growing worry pinching his brows together in the middle.

“Something’s wrong.” Gandalf always prided himself on his expert observational skills. Thorin could hardly bear to choke out Bilbo’s name, but he didn’t need to. His rigid stance had lost its usual stiffness. Gandalf could see nothing left in his eyes but a quiet desperation. “He needs healing.” The wizard tried, hoping he might manage to wipe away Thorin’s stubborn streak if he pestered long enough.

“He needs _me_.” The dwarf shot back, mainly to try and ease his own conscience rather than convince Gandalf of something he already knew.

“Thorin.” Gandalf wanted to help them stay together, but he was running low on patience. Thorin’s tenacity and obsessive hold over Bilbo wasn’t exactly a winning combination. “This mountain will be the end of him.” His expression suddenly grew softer. Despite the determined set of Thorin’s jaw, the wizard knew how much he cared for Bilbo. “You need to let him go. Let the elves take him. When he is well again, we can find another way to break the spell.”

“I cannot.” Thorin breathed through tight lips, fighting to subdue the private battle raging between his head and heart. “I know he is fading. I see it every day.” _So are you_. Gandalf thought sadly. “But I don’t want to be without him.”

Gandalf knew more about the king’s intentions than he ever let on before, but now was not the time to humour him.

“Save me from the stubbornness of Dwarves!” Gandalf banged his staff on the stone beneath his feet with exasperation. “He’s never going to be your consort if he doesn’t live long enough to plan your wedding.”

“Tharkûn.” Thorin seemed pulled back to his senses, suddenly reaching out for help. Something he would never admit to if anyone cared to ask. “What do I do?” The wizard sensed the sinister shadow surge again. Thorin didn’t have long before the light in his heart would be snuffed out completely. Never to return.

“If you truly love something.” Gandalf replied, resting one hand on Thorin’s shoulder with a gentleness he rarely shared. “You should set it free.”

Thorin arranged to meet Bilbo in the treasure hall when he awoke. Balin had the rather dubious honour of chivvying him along when he saw Thorin grow restless. Balin knew something was tearing at the king’s conscience. He only ever looked like that when Bilbo was involved somehow.

Thorin was scrambling to think of anything else over securing his claim on the hobbit, but the last shred of goodness in a darkened heart knew the wizard was right. Bilbo would never survive his selfish desire to hold on to the one he loved. Gandalf’s words refused to melt away to memory alone. Thorin might not yet have had the courage to voice it, but he did love Bilbo. Truly and deeply. Thorin dragged in a tortured breath. He had to save him.

Bilbo was still listless and yawning when he arrived on Balin’s arm. Thorin guided him into the vault and sat him down. Watery eyes stared back at the king, weak and unfocused. The flush on his cheeks betraying so much damage caused by the poison ravaging his body.

“Who am I, Bilbo?” Thorin was searching the hobbit’s face like he expected to see the meaning of all creation reflected in those seductive eyes.

 _What a strange question_. Bilbo wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. He lived to make Thorin happy, see him smile again. Bilbo leaned forward to run the tips of his fingers over Thorin’s beard. They slipped effortlessly through the greying stubble. Smoothed by age and the sweet-scented oils he sometimes used to groom it.

“You are everything you were ever meant to be.” Bilbo answered honestly. He had always been captivated by Thorin. To believe he might truly be loved by a Dwarven king still had the simple hobbit spellbound with awe. Thorin seemed to want more, and Bilbo suddenly remembered The Prophecy of Durin's Folk. Something to honour the Company with when they arrived in Lake-town. “You are the lord of silver fountains. You are the King beneath the mountains, whose hands shall forever flow with gold.”

“Bilbo.” Thorin took the tiny hand resting on his face and wrapped both of his own around it. These were the words he needed to hear. Thorin already asked for his harp to be restrung and delivered to the golden hall. Just for Bilbo. “Come. Sit by me.” The king murmured, and Bilbo obeyed. Thorin settled the harp between his knees and shucked off his mantle. Soon plucking at the strings with a grace no one should own when they had hands like a couple of garden spades. The king played until Bilbo’s eyes sparkled with devotion. When Thorin looked up again, a shallow breath caught in his throat. Bilbo’s creamy skin was glowing like polished gold in the torchlight. Even pale and fading, that little halfling was still the most bewitching creature he had ever seen.

Thorin insisted Bilbo take a promised treasure from the hoard. _Something to remember him by_. The king already gave the hobbit one of the most valuable things in the mountain. Despite being enslaved by dragon sickness, Thorin hadn’t hesitated to give Bilbo the mithril shirt as a token of their friendship. In his heart it meant so much more than that.

“You are the King Under the Mountain.” Bilbo added, reaching out to lay one little hand on Thorin’s chest with a soft smile. “And every corner of my heart.” In that moment, Thorin knew what he had to do. Hoping Bilbo would one day understand why they must part.

“Ai-latunsuwê, kurduimê.” Thorin knew a halfling wouldn’t grasp such a symbolic profession of his love, but he couldn’t stop it from spilling out. “Hikhthuzul, Bilbo. Amrâlu kuylê.” The hobbit could never explain how much he loved to hear the silvery language of the Dwarves. Sometimes it caused the points of his little ears to tremble. Many thought the harsh consonants made the dwarrow sound crude, but Bilbo never agreed. Those words pouring from Thorin’s lips were like honeyed notes. Made so much sweeter because of the message hidden inside them. “Remember this night, my love.” There was something so sad flickering behind his gaze. “Always remember how much I care for you.”

“Thorin?” Bilbo whispered quietly, tears suddenly budding in his eyes. “You’re scaring me.”

Thorin swept a single drop from his cheek with the edge of one thumb before touching their heads together in a tender gesture of farewell. One Bilbo didn’t understand.

“Choose a gift before you come back to bed.” Thorin forced his mouth into a smile, swallowing down his own tears. The king had suffered much pain in battle, but it was nothing compared to the wretchedness that consumed his heart when he let Bilbo’s hand fall. Thorin staggered from the hall without looking back while tumbling coins clinked against stone in his wake. A haunting echo filling the silence he left behind.

   

Thorin waited, but Bilbo did not return. The tight agitation in his chest forced him back to the hall and there, with the wizard by his side, Thorin found him. Unresponsive, and almost buried under a pile of coins.

“Bilbo?” The king called frantically, gathering the hobbit in his arms. Nothing. “Bilbo?”

“Thorin.” Gandalf demanded, close to knocking some sense into the king with the end of his staff. “Give him to Thranduil. Let them bring him some peace.”

“I see now there can be no other choice.” Thorin’s voice was cold and unyielding. “Very well. Take him for healing, but - ” The king hesitated, stroking the stray locks of damp hair from Bilbo’s face. The tiny new braid caught between his thick fingers. Thorin heard himself stifle a cry. “Bring him back to me.” His eyes suddenly grew black as night, a dark promise burning behind them. “But know this. If anyone should try to keep him from me, I will never stop looking and my revenge will be swift. I will tear up this world and cover all the lands in shadow until he is returned to me.” Gandalf just nodded in silence. He didn’t doubt that for a second.

Gandalf ushered Thorin to the gate, going on ahead in his haste to speak with Thranduil. The air of smug satisfaction painted on the Elvenking’s face turned his stomach.

“Thorin has agreed to release Bilbo to your care on the condition you take the halfling to Rivendell. You must do as you will, I know. But he needs healing first. The Elves of Imladris can watch over Bilbo until he is well again. Lord Elrond will not betray your trust in him.” Thranduil seemed content and signalled for his guard. Bilbo lay still, pressed up close to Thorin while his mind flitted through disordered dreams. Lulled by the intangible voice that cut through lucid hallucinations. Disconnected thoughts no one could see swirling around in his head. Thorin carefully carried a very limp hobbit out of the mountain.

The chill air bit into his cheeks, stinging at his eyes while he squinted in the bright glare after spending so long buried beneath the earth and sky. Thorin believed he might collapse right there if someone didn’t prise the dying halfling from his arms. Soul consumed by the hopelessness of not knowing when he would see his One again, but the shadow clawing at his heart lifted. Just a little.

Thorin regained all honour that day. Not just to the Elves, but in his loyalty to the little hobbit. Proven himself worthy to court such a priceless jewel. Thorin’s duty was to keep the future consort safe. The desire to make sure Bilbo lived crushing every other thought that battered an already splintered mind. Thorin dropped to his knees in the snow, head bowed with both arms falling slack in his lap. Thorin didn’t want to let Bilbo go, just staring down at the inanimate form cradled protectively against his chest. His heart ached in pain when gentle hands took his love from him. His arms had never felt so empty, but Bilbo was right. That one selfless act meant Thorin was now everything he was ever destined to be. The true King Under the Mountain.

So happy to share my stunning commission for this chapter by the wonderful and beautifully talented [teaxdragon](https://teaxdragon.tumblr.com/) For more of her lovely contributions to the fandom [click here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/teaDragon/pseuds/teaDragon)

My special thanks go to the awesome [Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/) for helping me with the Khuzdûl translations. To visit the Scholar on tumblr [ click here](https://thedwarrowscholar.tumblr.com/) His mastery of this fascinating language amazes me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. Ai-latunsuwê : Forgive me  
> Kh. Amrâlu kuylê : Love of my life  
> Kh. Kurduimê : My heart  
> Kh. Hikhthuzul : Always/Forever


	20. Healing

**20\. Healing**

Thorin looked completely broken. Suspended in time while the chill crept inside his body and wrapped biting fingers around his heart. He only blinked at all when splinters of sunshine broke through grey clouds to herald in the oncoming Spring. Wondering why everything felt so cold. Fíli and Kíli had followed him out of the mountain like lost little boys who had no idea how to help someone they loved. Bilbo’s curly head was drooping lifelessly over a slender arm while he was whisked away. Both eyes closed as if in sleep, but nothing seemed to stir him awake. Even when he was draped unceremoniously over a small pony. Thranduil nodded to his escort, signalling they should take the halfling back to camp. The bowman watched the events unfold in grim silence. Bard was a good man. He felt sorry for the dwarf, he really did, but such an opportunity was unlikely to pass him by a second time.

“Master Oakenshield?” Bard approached carefully, squatting down beside Thorin while he tried to catch his gaze. Sad blue eyes still fixed blankly on the space between his knees. Bard knew Thorin had shaken off that title when he reclaimed Erebor, but he would never be a king of Men. “Please. My people need help, and you promised.” Bard dropped his voice to a whisper, quiet respect growing now it was clear Thorin was prepared to let the hobbit go to save him. “On your honour.” The reputation of Dwarves usually preceded them. They were greedy and covetous. Stubborn as a pen full of bad-tempered goats, so Bard could only imagine how much that must have hurt.

“Take it.” Thorin didn’t even lift his head, soft voice barely audible over the swirl of snowflakes and the misery filling up his heart. “Take all of it. I don’t care.”

“Uncle?” Fíli gasped in surprise, stomach clenching at the thought of their precious treasure being distributed to all and sundry. “You don’t mean that.”

“I think he does.” Kíli nudged his brother aside, reaching for Thorin’s hand to calm him.

“Leave me.” Thorin ordered, but such a loyal company would never abandon him to pine away to nothing without his beloved Bilbo. Already mourning the loss before his empty hands had grown cold. Most of the other dwarves were already flocking out of the gate behind him. Dwalin made straight for the king. “Just leave me here.” His eyes were suddenly scanning the crowd to catch a final glimpse of the one he loved. “I want to look on his face, one last time.”

“Thorin.” Dwalin struggled to yank him up by the shoulders. “Come back inside. You’ll catch yer ruddy death out here.” He meant well, but would never understand how Thorin felt inside when the halfling was plucked from his arms. Never know what it was like to miss someone’s warmth like a piece of your very soul got ripped away. “The wizard will bring him back to you.” The king slumped forward, even when Nori took his other arm for support. He was a dead weight. They could hardly haul him to his feet at all and dragging poor Thorin back to the mountain by his braids didn’t seem like a viable option. Dori scuttled up behind his brother, all of them desperate to get Thorin inside the safety of Erebor before he lost it completely.

“Is there nothing you can do?” Dori looked up at the wizard with pleading eyes. “Master Gandalf?”

“I will be of no use here, my friend, and I once promised Bilbo I would go with him.” Gandalf was watching the comatose hobbit with growing alarm. He hadn’t moved at all since the royal guard had snatched him from Thorin’s embrace. “I intend to keep it. You must take care of your king for now. Thorin just needs time to accept this was the right thing to do. But it would be wise to trust to friendship in this. Are there any here who would accompany us?” Fíli was staring up at him with a frown. Clearly wondering why they had to be separated at all. “Thorin must stay here, Fíli.” Gandalf whispered. “The curse will be swift to take him if we renege on this. We will find another way.”

“Curse?” Fíli didn’t get a reply. Bofur suddenly pushed himself forward and gave Gandalf a bushy smile.

“Me. I want to go with you. Make sure Bilbo is safe.”

“Very well.” Gandalf agreed. “Myself and Bofur will go with the hobbit to Rivendell. Come, Master Dwarf. We have need of haste.” Bofur traipsed after the wizard with a heavy heart. Hoping that journey would not be Bilbo’s last.

The first night without him was almost unbearable. Thorin got startled awake just after midnight by a terrible dream. Only falling asleep at all when he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. Still dressed in a day-old tunic and calling for Bilbo in his confusion. Wild hair cascaded down his shoulders. Careering through the stone corridors of Erebor like a force of nature. Balin was still in the store room partaking of a much-needed night cap when a very dishevelled Thorin appeared in the doorway.

“Where is he? Where’s the hobbit?”

“Thorin.” Balin steadied the king by both arms and held him still while his mind shook off the drowse of sleep. “The elves took him for healing. Don’t you remember?”

“They took him?” Thorin gasped as the painful truth returned, hoping that memory was all just a cruel nightmare. How he wished he could sleep. Drown in the peaceful oblivion of insentience. A place where he could dream of the one he loved and forget Bilbo was far away and out of reach. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. Balin - ” Whatever he needed to ask his trusted mentor was lost to the darkness. Thorin sank to his knees, dragging poor Balin down with him. The old dwarf stroked calming fingers through Thorin’s hair, holding his king while he rocked him in his arms like a frightened child. Losing Bilbo had destroyed him.

Bilbo was soon settled in Rivendell with no awareness of his new surroundings. Still vowing subconscious promises to the Creator in his sleep. He didn’t care how much more he would have to give. Bilbo would die to give Thorin back his memory. His life. Give him something to hold on to when he was gone. Longing for the king to know in his heart how much he was loved by the hobbit. Loved above all else. Bilbo would embrace death with a smile on his face to give Thorin that peace.

He suddenly caught the smell of mountain heather drifting up from underneath his open window. Tiny white bells splashed with a wash of pink that dripped down delicate stems. The sweet scent giving rise to more beautiful dreams. Pervading his senses with happier thoughts before the fever finally broke. Almost four days had passed under the watchful gaze of an Elven lord. A rush of air by his side finally stirred Bilbo awake.

“Where am I?” Bilbo pulled in a shallow breath.

“In the house of Elrond.”

“Gandalf.” Bilbo smiled. He had never been so happy to see him. Pleasant burst of warmth in his breast soon overshadowed by memories of the love he left behind. Thorin was always his first waking thought, and the only voice that broke through the darkest dreams.

“Well.” Bofur declared, clapping his hands together in delight. “About time. I best see those pointy-eared buggers get a message through to Erebor. Oh - no offence, Bilbo.” Bofur grinned. The relief on his face was shining like a firebrand. “Let Thorin know you’re up and awake.”

“And let them all know how well you have watched over him, no doubt.” Gandalf added, with a wry smile. He wasn’t sure Bilbo would make it, but Elrond had brought him back from the brink of death.

“Don’t you believe a word of it, Bilbo.” Bofur winked at him. “Thorin would have my beard if I let anything happen to ye.” The hobbit could have sworn he saw a little sparkle in those brown eyes, but Bofur disappeared before Bilbo could reach out to hug him.

“That dwarf has never left your side.” Gandalf was once again humbled by so much unconditional loyalty. “I do believe he has grown rather fond of you.”

“He is very dear to me.” The hobbit was looking a bit misty-eyed himself. “ - and Thorin?” Bilbo croaked out. “Is he?” Bilbo could hardly speak without the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. “Is he alright? Has the spell been broken?”

“That remains to be seen. I do not doubt he is waiting for you.” Gandalf smiled again. “So let the elves here bring you healing and maybe soon you can return to him.” Bilbo turned his face away. Even the beautiful view from his window couldn’t stay the tears that spilled down his cheeks. Both were now flushed with a healthy glow. The fresh valley air had worked wonders on his complexion, but the sadness still lingered behind his eyes.

“I can’t.” Bilbo whispered, gazing up at the blue sky outside. All he could see was the colour of Thorin’s eyes. “He will never be free of the shadow if I go back now.” The hobbit gingerly pushed himself out of bed. He looked so frail, he could have passed for a starving child under a silk shift that hung from his shoulders. Little more than a shadow himself. Bilbo leaned against the window, searching out across the lands as if he could somehow see the Lonely Mountain in his mind. Hidden by overhanging trees with leaves tinted every shade of green he could imagine. How he would have loved to move through those avenues hand in hand with Thorin. Nestled in a secluded vale of white birch and surrounded by carven arbours. Breathing in the wholesome air while they wandered the terraces in peace. Watch the graceful waterfalls tumbling down the mountainside in a haven of timeless beauty.

Bilbo sighed. He couldn’t help feeling guilty for leaving, even though it wasn’t exactly a conscious decision. Like he had run away to Rivendell to admire the fresh green shoots of new life. A world away from the rugged slopes of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo knew he would miss the first thaw to melt the last spread of snow. Hoping against all hope the sun would chase away the ice around his lover’s heart.

Thorin had only been alone for a few days, yet it felt like forever. The shadow waned, but he was falling apart without Bilbo. He didn’t eat. He rarely slept. Bilbo’s delicious scent still clung to the cold linens in a bed that seemed far too big and empty without a little warm hobbit curled up next to him. Thorin cherished the image of Bilbo melting into his arms the night before he was taken, shining gold thread in his hair braid glinting in the candlelight. He had that at least. Even in a land of Elves, everyone would know Bilbo was his. Balin suddenly reappeared. Prince Legolas had apparently returned without leave from the Greenwood and begged for secret counsel with the king. Thorin would usually have sent Balin off with a look that could sever an artery, but he was too intrigued to ignore the request and hurried down to the hall. Legolas said nothing until he was sure they were alone. Quickly explaining to the king that Thranduil had once again been visited by an immortal spirit. He believed it was Irmo who brought Thorin back.

“'Arkhu'gal?” Thorin whispered in disbelief. “This is the one I saw in death?”

“I believe so.”

“I do not remember that day. But why? What does it matter now if the damage is already done?” Legolas seemed surprisngly determined to help.

"I think having the power of a king may be important.” Thorin suddenly looked serious, many years of struggle lining his face.

"I do not want that power.” Thorin stared back. He longed to be free of so much responsibility. Settle into a simple life with a hobbit he adored. “I have never wanted it."

“But it is yours, nonetheless.” Legolas had the bad taste to point out. “Only you can decide what to do with it.”

Thorin’s mistrust was bubbling just below a fragile surface. This elf must surely have some darker purpose in mind.

“Why have you really come here?”

“Because Bilbo deserves to be happy and I sense that you are changed, Thorin.”

“Yes.” Thorin sighed. “I am. But you owe me no loyalty.” He remembered the rather offensive insult he spat out in Mirkwood's halls.

“I’m not doing it for you.” Legolas replied bluntly. “I saw the light inside Bilbo’s soul when he spoke your name. He is yours and you are his. Always, I think. Why a little hobbit from The Shire? I do not know. But you are bound together somehow, and not just because of the spell.” Only Bilbo had been shown a fleeting glimpse of their true destiny. Why the king had been granted a second chance to get it right. “I have never seen so much love in mortal eyes.” The elf added gently. “But I saw it then.”

Thorin knew Bilbo was the one he had waited for. He always had been.

“I spent most of my life trying to live up to my father, my grandfather. It took me a hundred years to realise what was really important. Just to lose it all.”

“It is not lost, Thorin. He is not lost.” Legolas said kindly. “Not yet.”

Bilbo had crawled back into bed by the time Bofur returned with a little scroll. Ori already sent word to ask for news, and let Gandalf know how much Thorin was suffering (but he must not tell Bilbo). They didn’t want to hurt him. _The rages are the worst_. Bofur skipped that bit. Trying to be as diplomatic as possible under the circumstances. Relaying the gist of Ori’s message without repeating it word for word.

“They all miss you somethin' terrible, Bilbo.” Bofur tried to sound cheerful, but he was worried sick about the king. “Thorin is - never mind. I don’t want to think about it.” _Sometimes he wakes up in the night, screaming Bilbo’s name and reliving that terrible memory_. Bofur read through the parchment again, but he didn’t pass it to the hobbit. “Thorin just keeps saying the same thing.”

“What?" Bilbo prompted. “Bofur? Please.”

“Ankakizi ni adâlimê, ak tathyariya.” He read carefully.

“What does that mean?” Bilbo asked hesitantly, blinking at Bofur in fearful anticipation with his heart pounding a league a minute. He always wished he could understand Thorin’s native tongue. Bilbo had so many things he wanted to say to him.

“I’m not sure I should tell you.” Bofur apologised with his eyes. “I don’t want ye to feel bad.”

“Please.” Bilbo insisted. “I miss him so much. I need to hear he misses me too.”

Bofur looked decidedly uncomfortable and bit into his lip.

“I see you in my dreams, but you are far away.”

“Bofur.” Bilbo threw his head into both hands. The dwarf could only just make out a few muffled words. “Why doesn’t he come for me?” The hobbit felt a rough hand rest over his.

“Oh, Bilbo. Knowing Thorin, he will. 'Specially if he hears you're on the mend. But Gandalf said he shouldn’t, and I agree with him. I don’t think he would be able to leave here without you. The elves say you’re doing much better and all, but you ain’t ready to go back yet. He’s just trying to do what’s best for you.”

“Really?” Bilbo stopped sniffling. That was some small comfort, at least. “You really think so?”

“Aye. Thorin wants you there with him. 'Course he does.” Bofur patted his hand again. “He needs that more than every breath he takes. But he also knows you need to heal up good and proper 'fore you come home.”

 _Home_.

“Well, Master Hobbit.” Elrond always had a penchant for a dramatic entrance, and deliberately steered the conversation in another direction. Moping and pining weren’t going to help Bilbo recover. “Let us focus on more pressing matters. How is my special guest feeling after a good rest?”

“I’m alright.” Bilbo forced a weak smile. It wasn’t even close to true, but he quite liked the idea of being important to someone like Elrond. But the Lord of Imladris saw much more than he shared. If the malady in Bilbo’s heart cut any deeper, Elrond wasn’t certain he could heal him completely. Someone needed to draw out the shadow and set them both free. It was too soon to trouble the little halfling with such a burden. Pondering all this in silence before he spoke openly again.

“Perhaps there is a way to help stay the darkness.” His mind was now sifting through a very long memory for something once forgotten. _Athelas_. “But I have not seen it growing near our borders in an age and there has not been a king in Gondor for many years.” Elrond seemed lost in thought for a moment. “But who can say which way the tides of fortune may turn, for all of us. Maybe one day, the king will wear a crown again.” Bilbo was reminded of his golden ring when he spotted the crimson jacket draped over the end of his bed. Still too tired to check his pocket.

“Maybe.” Bilbo murmured softly. Just before he fell asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. 'Arkhu'gal : He who desires/Dwarvish name for Irmo  
> Kh. Ankakizi ni adâlimê, ak tathyariya : I see you in my dreams, but you are far away


	21. The Sound Of Silence

**21\. The Sound Of Silence**

Gandalf left Bilbo to rest. More relieved the hobbit was awake than anyone might guess from the dark look that seemed to have settled permanently on his face. The quiet exchange had set the wizard to thinking. Elrond Peredhel saw many things, and not all had yet come to pass. There was something else hidden behind those reassuring words. Gandalf got the distinct impression Bilbo would one day find himself slap bang in the middle of it. Travelling to Rivendell to find an answer and heal the hobbit’s wound had been the right path to take but Bilbo was now so fiercely bound to Thorin, Gandalf believed that union was completely inescapable. Their hearts entwined long before the day his king was called back from the Halls of Waiting. Bofur didn’t want to leave the room in case Bilbo woke up to find he was alone, but Elrond gestured for him to follow them while the hobbit drifted off again. He was a better colour, but still very weak. Last traces of poison slowly fading away.

“Bofur?” Elrond eased him out of halfling earshot. “Do you know if anyone in your Company carried a batch of Athelas?”

“Athelas?”

“You may have heard it called Kingsfoil.”

“Kingsfoil, aye. It’s a weed.” The dwarf scrunched up his nose in distaste. He used to see sparse patches of it clinging to the western slopes of Ered Luin. The mountains were close enough to the sea to bear a forgotten remnant of the Númenóreans.

“Asëa Aranion is a sacred herb that has special healing powers in the right hands. Beneficial of Kings, it would be in Westron. Is there any in the mountain, Master Dwarf? It is very important.”

“Not in Erebor.” Bofur shrugged. “We only use it for pig fodder.” Elrond tried to subdue his abhorrence. The hushed voices deep in conversation just outside his door snaked inside Bilbo’s mind. Blurring the jagged lines between reality and his bad dreams. He thought one voice might have belonged to Gandalf, but everything seemed so hazy and indistinct. At the back of his eyes Bilbo could see himself standing in a cavernous hall. Cold and empty. _They are one_. Muted words flowed over him in sleep. _The Ring and the Dark Lord_. _He must never find it_. Bilbo pushed the vision away. There were many years ahead of them before Gandalf merely began to wonder about The Ring. Bilbo wasn’t sure why he felt so protective of it. Like a shameful secret he wanted to keep all to himself without really understanding why.

The image melted away to nothing, only to be replaced by another that filled most of his subconscious. Bilbo looked down to see the Arkenstone clutched in his hands. A whirlpool of light pushing through the gaps in his fingers like it was trying to force them apart. He could feel himself shaking. Even in sleep, Bilbo knew he never wanted to touch that jewel again. Thorin was there, watching him with suspicious blue eyes. He tried to take the stone from Bilbo’s hands but as soon as their fingertips touched, the glow surged brighter than before. Splintering out in every direction before it shattered into a hundred pieces at his feet. Bilbo cried out, jerking his body upright in bed with a strangled gasp. Bofur nearly tripped over his own boots in his haste to return to the bedside. Reaching for Bilbo’s hand to comfort him.

“What happened?” The poor dwarf looked so stunned, Bilbo might have laughed if his heart didn’t feel like it was stuttering to a stop in his chest.

“I - ” Bilbo stammered, sweat pouring from him. “No. It was a dream. Just a bad dream.” The hobbit sighed and curled his fingers around Bofur’s hand. Slumping back on the downy pillow as all the air rushed out of his lungs. He never felt so alone. Bilbo remembered another voice. A cold warning that had slithered through his nightmare like a venomous serpent. _To bear a ring of power is to be alone_. The crushing need to see his king again suddenly overpowered every fear for his survival. “Thorin.” Bilbo murmured tearfully, searching his friend’s eyes for some small hint of redemption. “I want Thorin.”

“Bilbo.” Bofur tried, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “I know you do. You two were meant to be, you know. I always believed that.”

“Then why would the spell tear us apart?”

“I don’t know, but them wizards and elves won’t let either of you throw your lives away just 'cause you want to be together.”

“But what about the other dwarves? They must have said something.”

“He doesn’t care.” Bofur inhaled a sharp breath in alarm and snapped his mouth shut, staring at both feet in shame.

“What do you mean?” Bilbo could feel the bile rising from his stomach. “Please tell me what Ori said - all of it.”

Bofur made the fatal mistake of looking back up. There was so much trust and faith staring back at him, he caved at once.

“He said Thorin doesn’t really care about much of anything anymore. It has broken him.”

“No.” Bilbo’s eyes were filling up again. Bofur cursed the size of his mouth and quickly ripped off another scrap of cloth, tenderly dabbing at Bilbo’s cheeks to dry his tears. “But I was just trying to save him. Bofur, please. I want him so badly. Can you send a message to him? Tell him I am waiting for him to come for me.”

Bofur suspected Thorin was healing too since Bilbo had left the mountain, but part of him was still so cold. Precious memories of a life before lost in another time and place until the debt was paid in full. Like some kind of twisted insurance against a divine enchantment. Thorin would surely die if the spell wasn’t bound in time, but Bofur loved that little hobbit. He couldn’t bear to see him so unhappy. Bilbo’s puppy eyes were bloody impossible to resist, and the dwarf felt himself sag in defeat.

“No promises.”

The king spent many lonely hours pacing the ramparts, waiting for news. Straining his gaze and imagining every dark speck on the horizon was a raven bringing a message from Rivendell. He walked alone in private darkness, every waking thought consumed by the memory of Bilbo. Thorin could count on one hand the number of times he had been genuinely happy. The birth of his sister-sons, the pride he felt when he was trusted as their guardian. Even when he was dying. He remembered Bilbo being there, holding his hand and weeping tears of unimaginable pain. Most of it was still a blur but Thorin had always desired Bilbo. Wanted him like a wolf might lust after the taste of a rabbit. Refusing to give in to temptation on the road in case such intimacy might hinder the quest. But that burning sexual desire for the halfling had left fertile seeds while he was sleeping in shadow. Deep roots digging into his heart and holding it fast. Even gripped tight in the claws of dragon sickness, only Bilbo’s voice had cut through the voices in his head. Never realising how much he loved the hobbit until the moment he let him go.

Thorin waited on the terrace until the bitter cold forced him back inside, throwing himself on the bed and willing the days of waiting to pass. He reached out one hand to stroke the empty space beside him, wide fingers slipping underneath the bolster where Bilbo used to rest his golden head. There was something small and round buried there like a forgotten promise of forever. Thorin wrapped his fingers around it and pulled out his hand, feeling his throat bob. Trapped between his thumb and one finger was the little acorn Bilbo had carried with him all the way from Beorn’s garden. The magic tore at his heart, but a life without Bilbo by his side was little more than a sleeping death. Thorin still wanted the hobbit to belong to him so completely, he no longer cared about the risk to himself. He intended to get him back.

Bofur disappeared to do a bit of soul-searching. Unbearably torn between doing the right thing by Thorin and making Bilbo smile again. The hobbit was sitting up in bed, anxiously twisting his hands into knots while he waited for the dwarf to return. Elrond had spoken at length with Gandalf while they tried to come up with another way to save them both. He could tell by the look on the hobbit’s face he was already thinking about running back into Thorin’s waiting arms.

“I know you are restless, Bilbo. But I would be a poor healer indeed if I let you go now. You need to stay. For a while, at least. The sickness is not just in your blood, Master Perian.” Elrond perched at the end of the bed near Bilbo’s feet. “Mithrandir has told me much about the perils that threaten Thorin Oakenshield, and I know well the legends of old. I do believe that your hearts are joined somehow. Probably long before that day if either of you would have let yourselves admit it.” Bilbo only hummed in response. Elrond was unnervingly perceptive, but none of that was actually helpful.

“I’ve heard that it’s unwise to seek the counsel of Elves. For they will answer both yes and no.”

Elrond nodded slowly, a small smile forming at one corner of his mouth.

“Maybe. But not all is lost. The lore of that herb is known only to some immortals and a few Rangers of the North. _Come, Athelas_.” Elrond added softly, as if savouring the words on his tongue. “Those who remember the ancient prophecy that goes with that name.” _Life to the dying. In the king’s hand lying_.

“You remember? Goodness, you must be very old. Oh - ” Bilbo made a little noise that sounded like he was trying to suck the words back in through his nose. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

“I am indeed.” Elrond’s smile grew a little wider. “But we have a constant reminder of all things that have passed. To our kind, the very starlight is memory. After midsummer we celebrate _Mereth-nuin-Giliath_ , the Feast of Starlight." Bilbo’s pride was suddenly poked by a fading image of spending that day as a very wet hobbit. “Do not give up hope. A memory taken can be restored. Spells can be broken. Light from the stars is like a magic mirror. But we would need something that could shine bright enough to reflect the curse back to whomever cast it, and I know of nothing that can now be found in all of Arda that has such power.”

The hobbit sighed again. Everything that started out with such promise all seemed so hopeless now.

“Wait.” Bilbo drew in another rush of air and sat up so quickly he almost slipped out of bed. “Say that again.” The Wood-elves always waxed lyrical about the white gems in the mountain. Thorin had once described the Arkenstone with the same passion. Shining with an inner beauty as if made from a thousand facets of pure starlight. Bilbo suddenly felt his heart leap inside his chest. _Look to the stone, Bilbo_. Hope was suddenly daring to return to a mind that still struggled to accept the king would be better off without him.

“Rest now, my friend.” Elrond smiled down at him. The halfling had always been rather excitable, and he needed to convalesce. “We will talk again soon.” His heart told him this brave little hobbit had a much greater part to play in the fate of a wide and dangerous world he knew nothing of. Despite his sadness, Elrond’s care made Bilbo believe he was worth something. Even if it didn’t always feel like it while he was so lost to despair. The quiet was broken by the graceful swish of silken robes when Elrond rose to stand. Bilbo felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder. “You are very welcome to stay here, if that is your wish.”

Bofur eventually gave in to his conscience and sent word to the mountain that Bilbo was asking for the king. Thorin was still miserable and moping when the message came through. He had never been that interested in love or sex until he finally understood what it was like to give away his heart. Erebor was almost too quiet. The rest of the Company kept to themselves. They knew Thorin was in pain, but none of them really knew what to say to drag him out of it. Faithful friends so worried about the fate of their king and his little burglar, an empty silence now haunted the mountain. Thorin was tormented by the hollow memory of Bilbo’s sweet voice, the sound of his furry feet padding down the stone steps. But most of all he missed the sensual breaths that escaped his lips while he slept by the king’s side when Thorin cuddled up behind him just a little too hard.

Kíli jumped when the king stormed into the kitchens with his cloak billowing out behind him like a black cloud. The boys never really understood what all the fuss was about until Bilbo got taken. Still stunned that Thorin had let anyone rip his precious hobbit away from him. Balin had apparently spilled the contents of Bofur’s message and poor Kíli looked so guilty, Thorin prodded him relentlessly until the young Durin finally cracked under the pressure and told him everything.

“Well?” Thorin suddenly grabbed his other nephew by the braids, fresh hope twinkling in his eyes. “Am I not a king?” All Fíli could do was stare at him in confusion, but that was enough for Thorin. Stumbling headlong into the blind stubbornness he once wallowed in while the Company were trapped in Thranduil’s halls. “Oh, Fíli.” His voice was gentle when he touched the tips of their noses together in a gesture of fond affection. “The only treasure I have lost is the one I want most. I am going to bring him home.” Thorin was determined now. “And I defy anyone to try and stop me.”

“Don’t.” Balin pulled at Thorin’s arm. “Just wait a while. You’re not thinking straight.”

“My mind is clearer now than it has been in a long time. I cannot bear this emptiness inside me.” Balin had never seen Thorin look so desperate, and still so resolute. The promise of a soft halfling falling back into his hands was a powerful motivation. “I am drowning in silence without him.”

“Thorin.” Balin said sternly, concern for the king making him a bit sharp. “You know what Gandalf said. If you refuse to honour such a dark spell, your life will be forfeit.” His sad eyes were trained on someone he loved like his own, subtle twitch of snowy whiskers betraying all the fear he had tried so hard to hide. Thorin almost smiled, serene acceptance washing over him in knowing he would be able to kiss those cherished lips once more before the end.

“Then it is forfeit. I would rather take my last breath in Bilbo’s arms than endure a lifetime without ever holding him again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qu. Asëa aranion : Beneficial of Kings  
> Si. Perian : Halfling  
> Si. Mereth-nuin-Giliath : The Feast of Starlight


	22. A Light In The Dark

**22\. A Light In The Dark**

Thorin refused to waste valuable time on explanations and ordered his nephews to return to Ered Luin and seek out this herb that might be the key to unlocking the shadow that still clung to the corners of his heart like a stain he could never purge away. Bofur hinted that Elrond thought it was important and if they travelled some of the way together, Thorin knew he could stop at Rivendell and retrieve the treasure a horde of filthy elves stole right out from under his sizable nose. Plotting and planning his next move through turbulent thoughts. That was how he saw it now his mind was made up. All reason lost to the flurry of snowflakes outside.

“But we only just got here.” Kíli whined, childlike in his irritation at having to tread a long path on the back of another fragile promise. “'Amad will know something is wrong if we return so soon.”

“No, she won’t.” Fíli said quietly. He saw a flickering spark of life return to Thorin’s eyes for the first time since the hobbit was taken, and the young dwarf reached for it. “Besides, she’ll want to be here when you wed Bilbo.” A terrible silence fell in the vast hall. Thorin felt every emotion in his body clench into a ball so tight, he almost choked on it. _How wonderfully simple the world must look through young eyes_. A single word would have stuck in his throat, so he said nothing. Thorin missed that gentle presence like a tattered rip inside him that refused to mend. With Bilbo gone, a handful of memories had crept back into the darkest reaches of his mind. How loyal the halfling had been to their cause without asking for anything in return, or expecting the king to go running into the mountain alone to find him when the dragon lived. It took days to understand the flood of relief swelling in hot Dwarven blood when he realised the hobbit still had all his skin intact. Thorin had loved Bilbo in secret. Loved him until the end of all things.

Thorin cursed the many times he had scrambled to find the right words to tell Bilbo just how much he cared for him when he had the chance. The many times he had tried and failed. Thorin was as thick-headed as any Dwarf when his feelings were cornered, but not so dense he didn’t understand the conditions of a sacred pact he hardly remembered making. The cost of his life paid for by sacrificing his greatest love. Maybe the magic would fade and Thorin would be left to his fate. To live or die as he would on the field of battle. It wasn’t enough. Not without Bilbo.

Legolas stayed close just to make sure Bard was finally granted a portion of the riches still lying untouched beneath the mountain. He didn’t need to be asked twice. Thorin may have been lost to his own grief when he agreed to the bowman’s request, but the king’s word now meant so much more than it once did. Another scribbled note from a stunned Ori said Thorin didn’t even count it or ask him to turn over his pockets on the way out. That information alone would have floored Bilbo, never mind the idea Thorin had apparently buddied-up with an elf or stuffed a handful of white gems on top of the Arkenstone no one else knew he had secretly stashed in the bottom of his pack. He would be able to get to Rivendell much faster if they were allowed to pass through Mirkwood unhindered. An Elven prince on side was a reasonable bargaining chip, but Thranduil’s desire for those diamonds was practically legendary. Thorin smiled to himself when he heaved the satchel onto the back of his pony. Bilbo was worth it.

Thorin shouted impatiently at his nephews to get them moving but they were dragging their heels in the snow. Kíli looked the most depressed of the two. More than eight hundred miles lay between Erebor and the Blue Mountains. It stretched out before him like a montage of pitiless mosquitoes and stale jerky for breakfast.

Rivendell was so beautifully peaceful and safe, but it was no good place for the lonely. Bilbo had taken to sitting out on the terrace to soak in the Spring sunshine. Hoping to improve his colour while he waited for a message from Erebor. Master Baggins had been a guest in Elrond’s halls for twenty-eight days, six hours and fourteen minutes. Not that he was counting. His host now insisted the hobbit walk up and down the colonnade for a few minutes every day just to keep all his limbs in working order. Bilbo did as he was told. It would have been rude to refuse, after all. Elrond had cleared his bite of the infection and given him hope again. Bilbo could also keep a watch over the hidden path just in case any Dwarven kings happened to pass by. The hobbit knew Bofur had sent word to the mountain weeks ago, and every day of waiting was more torturous than the last. Not for the first time, Bilbo wondered if Thorin had decided his own life meant more than promising himself to a silly halfling. And every morning spent tears were still drying on his pillow.

Thorin said farewell to his nephews at the Ford of Bruinen, trusting them to return as fast as their ponies would carry them. Charged with the unenviable honour of not bothering to make their way home at all until they had a cargo of Kingsfoil stowed away in their saddle-bags. It was almost sunset when Bofur spotted the silhouette of his weary king crossing under the archway that marked the borders of a land no Dwarf should ever be pleased to enter. Bofur drew in a nose full of smoke in surprise and dropped his pipe, every raw emotion showing on his face. Thorin thought he looked careworn as only a true friend would if his duty was the safekeeping of someone he loved.

“I’m mighty glad to see ye, Thorin.” Bofur grinned wide when he ran to greet him. “Bilbo has never stopped asking.” Such welcome devotion made his fragile Shadowheart sing.

“Please, take me to him.” Bofur nodded obediently and led the king deep into the valley. Thorin hurried after him, despite the weariness that made every last nerve ache. Bofur just bowed politely when they finally reached the carven doorway and the priceless jewel that lay behind it. Thorin smiled, pushing a golden coin into the threadbare mitten. “Make sure we are not disturbed.” Thorin had all the subtlety of a landslide but no one would begrudge them some privacy. The door closed silently behind him while Bilbo stared up at the majestic vision in dumb silence. Splintered between the need to touch, and the fear of impulsively disregarding everything that had gone before. He wanted so much to believe the king was real. Bilbo made a little broken noise when he slid out of bed, treacherous knees almost giving way in their weakness. Thorin swept the hobbit up in two strong arms that were suddenly wrapped tight around his little body. Wet mouth covering his face and neck with frantic kisses until Bilbo had to tip his head back to breathe. “Bilbo.” Thorin’s worshipful breath heated the soft skin. The hobbit had no idea what would happen to them now but none of it mattered in that one perfect moment. Thorin was here. He was so warm. Warm and solid, and a hundred other things in between. Bilbo was panting, struggling to take in enough air. He didn’t care. Asphyxiation was a small price to pay to have those huge hands groping his arse again.

“Stop, Thorin.” Bilbo gasped, laughing and breathless. “Stop a minute. I can’t breathe.” Thorin was lost to the need to grab every inch that he could see through the delicate shift that looked almost transparent in the copper glow of fading sunlight. A tiny hand reached up to touch his face. “Are you real?” The hobbit was almost scared to close his eyes in case the dwarf disappeared like smoke when he opened them again. Hardly daring to believe his love was there. So close and so alive - and there it was. Everything that forced Bilbo to stop before he let Thorin ravage him completely.

 _Alive_.

Thorin kissed him so deeply, Bilbo could feel the tip of a slippery tongue search every corner of his mouth. Tears were falling down both of their cheeks when he finally pulled away. _Say something_. The hobbit longed to drown in the comfort of that deep voice again. _Tell me you love me_. No words would come. Bilbo wanted to hear it. Wanted to touch those lips with his own. Take the king to bed and cover his body with kisses.

“Yes. I had to come. I was so lost without you.”

“Oh, Thorin.” Bilbo whispered. “I missed you so much. I just wanted you to live.” He slotted their palms together. Bilbo’s was almost swallowed up by the size of Thorin’s hand when their fingers slid effortlessly together.

“I don’t want to live.” Thorin finally managed to voice all the pain that had kept his emotions buried beneath a pile of gold under a lonely mountain. “Not without you.” Despite the happiness shining through his eyes, Thorin looked exhausted. “I rode hard, Bilbo. Travelled many miles to find you. Not sleeping, barely eating. Just to get back to you, bunny.”

“Thorin Oakenshield.” Bilbo blinked slowly. Rosy warmth flushing the curve of his neck where one rough hand was still resting. “Are you trying to impress me?”

“I am.” Thorin breathed softly, a small shred of doubt suddenly twisting inside him. “Is it working?”

Bilbo gave his king a shy smile and clambered into his lap. He couldn’t seem to get close enough, even though their bodies were flush from chest to hip.

“Maybe.” Thorin laughed low, a captivating sound that stirred a long dormant need in the hobbit to give himself up completely. “Stay." Bilbo murmured. "Stay with me tonight." An unspoken offer of submission he hoped the king would understand. Thorin could only imagine how magnificent his hobbit would look with mithril cuffs decorating his sensitive little ears. Gold beads threaded in the back of his hair like raindrops caught in Summer sunshine. If they did this, it was forever. There was no going back.

“Are you sure, amrâlimê?”

The hobbit leaned into a caress, and another violent pulse of longing stirred in Thorin’s groin.

“I’m sure.” Bilbo’s heart thudded in his chest, grinding his hips down in answer. “If I’m going to surrender my body and soul to anyone, I want it to be you, Thorin. It’s always been you." Bilbo’s touch had set a match to the smouldering ashes in Thorin’s belly. Now they burned like a fire beneath his damp skin when his kiss was returned with adoration. Bilbo dragged the dwarf back to bed with him, fumbling to free Thorin from his breeches that now strained against swollen desire. The royal cock hadn’t seemed quite so impressive when his mouth was wrapped around it in the dark. Now it was shining with drops of arousal in the candlelight and throbbing with want, it looked immense. Every vivid fantasy Bilbo had imagined in his dreams didn’t do it justice in the slightest. “Thorin.” Bilbo gasped, unable to tear his gaze away. “That’s - it’s very big.” Thorin couldn’t resist a little smile. “I don’t know if I can - ” The dwarf hushed him, gently stroking himself while he waited for Bilbo to catch back the stream of warm breath that left his mouth when he saw Thorin in all his beautifully naked glory.

“I could never hurt you.” Thorin promised. “I’ll be careful.” Bilbo swallowed a nervous breath. Hesitantly reaching out to settle his fingers around the achingly hard shaft like he was weighting the length of it in his tiny hand. “But only if you really want to.” Bilbo could see the sincerity pouring from the depths of those hopeful blue eyes.

 _Sweet Yavanna_. Bilbo almost pinched himself to make sure he was still awake. _Pull yourself together, Baggins_. _You do want it_. _You have wanted that touch for so long, you can’t remember anything else_.

“Alright.” Bilbo whispered, entangled somewhere between awe and panic. After many months of wanting and waiting, Thorin was his to take but anyone blessed with the gift of sight could see how much that was going to hurt. The king soon covered the small body with his own while he traced rough fingers over every line and curve. The bruising touches were so possessively dominating, Bilbo wasn’t convinced the shadow had even begun to release its hold on him. The hobbit slinked down the bed and lodged himself between Thorin’s legs to admire the dark spread of coarse hair covering most of his chest and stomach. Bilbo dipped his head, slowly trailing light fingertips lower until he could feel the rigid flesh pulse against his hand again.

Thorin had put a few disjointed pieces back together on the path to Rivendell. Still afraid to admit to the hobbit (or himself, for that matter) that it was the will to be with Bilbo that brought him back from death. Dark thoughts dispersed like fresh dew at dawn when a cautious lick over the slit of his cock brought him crashing back.

“Bilbo?” Thorin reached down with one finger and tilted the hobbit’s chin up, now lustrous with spit. He didn’t want anything to bring him so close to the edge just to be left wanting. “Can I have you?” Bilbo slithered up Thorin’s body to share another kiss. Never realising how much he wanted it until their lips touched again. “Please, Bilbo.”

“Yes.” Bilbo murmured, lost to everything but expectant desire. “But, Thorin - ” He said suddenly, blinking up at his lover with wide eyes. The swirls of muted colour now so muddied by lust, they shimmered midnight blue in the dim light. “Hold me, don’t let go.” That whispered plea went way beyond the promise of lovemaking.

“Never.” Bilbo slid off Thorin’s chest and splayed out on his back in compliant surrender. Slowly spreading his legs apart so Thorin could wedge his hips in the tight space between them. Bilbo felt his mouth drop open when the king’s full hardness pressed against his thigh. Teasing playful fingers over the end of one braid where it dangled over his stomach. Thorin took that as all the permission he needed to slip the tip of one slick digit inside the hobbit’s body. It responded with a small burst at the new sensation so Thorin pressed down against the hobbit’s stomach and dared to push another in. Bilbo released a long moan when both of them were settled inside him. Closing his eyes while Thorin cherished every second of the sensuous feeling throbbing down his fingertips. Thorin stroked at the raised bump of skin, suspecting he must have found a sensitive spot when Bilbo cried out with pleasure and bucked hard against his hand. Thorin plundered the hobbit’s mouth with a tongue so desperate, it felt hot and thick when it was forced between his lips. “Turn over.” Thorin growled into his mouth, encouraged by the soft little gasps of want that escaped every time he pinched at the skin of Bilbo’s hip with eager fingers. “I want to see.” The hobbit hitched himself up and leaned forward, resting his head on both hands so the king had a perfect view of Bilbo stretched wide around his fingers. He really should prepare that little body to take his ample girth but Thorin was already behind him, his cock hot with blood and wet with longing.

Thorin eased Bilbo open carefully until he felt tight heat swallow the tip. Sighing out a deep breath in that perfect moment when he was pushing inside the one he loved for the first time. Thorin dug biting fingertips into Bilbo’s skin, holding him just right so he could watch his delicious slide into the hobbit. Bilbo let out a quiet cry of pain when Thorin breached him. Pressing his lips together and riding out the sharp sting while he was slowly opened up. Gasping breathlessly at the intrusive sensation of feeling so full. Thorin moved his hips gently at first, carefully plunging in just a little more until he was sure Bilbo could take it. But the king wanted to claim him so desperately, it only took a few strokes before two huge hands spread across the hobbit’s stomach and dragged him up to go deeper. Thorin was shaking, every muscle in his thighs starting to tremble while he struggled to stay in control. Bilbo arched his back when the dwarf pushed into him hard and the steady pace quickly morphed into increasingly savage thrusts. If he got poked much more, he would be picking up bits of his spine. Thorin soon buried himself in Bilbo so deep, all the hobbit could do was mumble the king’s name through the sensual numbness of illicit pleasure. Thorin twisted Bilbo back over when he knew he was close. He wanted to watch the halfling fall apart. Thorin suddenly stilled and held his breath, pulling the hobbit up so he could suck at the pulse on his throat while climax ripped through his body like a streak of lightning.

Bilbo cried out again when hot release splashed inside him, impressive spend coating the inside of the hobbit’s body with potent seed. Bilbo held the dwarf fast with both heels until he reached his own peak. Digging them hard into the thick hide of Thorin’s back and letting the warmth flow deeper while covetous hands sank into his arse. Thorin spread out on his back after emptying himself inside the wrecked hobbit, grunting and juddering while his ardour cooled. Both of them blissfully sated and breathing heavily for a few minutes until Bilbo nudged Thorin in the side.

“Let’s watch the stars together.” The hobbit didn’t expect Thorin to pick him up again. “I can walk.” Bilbo spluttered, pushing at the king’s shoulder in mock annoyance.

“I know.” Thorin just held him tighter and moved to the window. Bilbo sighed happily in his arms while he gazed up to admire the night sky. Thorin had no intention of setting Bilbo down, taking advantage of the rather shady excuse of making sure he didn’t exert himself while he was still on bed rest. The hobbit smiled as his cheeks flushed pink. Pretty sure his bed rest didn’t include letting the king pound him senseless.

Thorin gave Bilbo’s bum a squeeze. He had practically been sutured to his side since they made love, but the aching hobbit wasn’t sure why that meant the king needed to carry him around like a recalcitrant child who might run off and get into all sorts of trouble once his feet were back on solid ground. His body still throbbed with a peculiar combination of pleasure and pain, and Thorin looked far too satisfied for his own good. Like a large bewhiskered cat who hadn’t just got the cream, he was still licking the sweetness from his paws. They watched a handful of elves wander through the valley for a while before Bilbo started to wilt. He was physically and emotionally spent, so it didn’t take much persuasion from Thorin to coax him back to bed. They were soon lying next to each other on a pile of very crumpled linen.

“I wanted you to have something, my love.” Thorin reached for the discarded tunic and pulled a shiny object from one of his many pockets. “You never got to decide on a consort gift. This belonged to my mother. I hoped it would do.” Thorin held out his hand. A gilded bangle set with polished malachite sparkled in his huge palm. Interspersed with perfectly cut emeralds that glinted like tiny stars in the flickering light. “If you’ll take it.” Bilbo felt his bottom lip tremble. The rush of so many emotions in one day had left him dangling on the edge, and they were all about to spill out. It wouldn’t take much for him to fall. “You once told me all Hobbits share a love of things that grow. Here, the malachite has circles like a tree.” Thorin ran a thick finger over the glossy surface. “I hoped the emeralds would remind you of a green land that was once your home, even if only in a memory.”

“Thorin.” Bilbo was left speechless by the beauty of both the gift, and the sentiment. The golden cuff would have easily slipped from his wrist, so the king fastened it around Bilbo’s ankle with a hum of satisfaction. There was so much he needed to say to the halfling. Thorin never asked so plainly before, but he wanted no more doubt. No more second guessing a strange culture Bilbo might never understand completely.

“Marry me.” Thorin pleaded, blue eyes brimming with limitless devotion. Bilbo swept away a happy tear and let the king snuggle into him. He longed to say yes. Wanted to shout it to the sky. But the word was trapped behind a paralyzing spiral of fear.

The little hobbit stayed silent, and Thorin said no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. 'Amad : Mother


	23. The Council Of Elrond

**23\. The Council Of Elrond**

Bilbo was resting on something soft when he woke up. Bofur had already slipped a note under the door, not wanting to put a dampener on any potential romance (or see either of them naked). A meeting was decided. Gandalf had not been idle while Bilbo was healing. He returned early that same morning and asked Elrond to gather a few of his trusted kin for counsel so they could decide what to do to help Thorin.

Bilbo suddenly felt the warm pelt shift beneath him. A low grumble vibrated into his hair while a possessive arm tightened around his waist. Little hobbit nose twitching in response to the dense hair tickling his cheek.

“Bakn galikh, 'ibinê.”

Bilbo yawned wide, stretching out on his back and basking in the afterglow of having Thorin inside him.

“Good morning.” Bilbo had picked up a few Khuzdûl phrases since Bofur had taken him under his decidedly floppy wing. Bilbo reluctantly pulled free of the suffocating embrace Thorin had wrapped him up in for most of the night.

“I see you are learning. Good.” Thorin seemed pleased by the idea.

“I am. Bofur slips into it sometimes when he’s tired or forgets I’m not a dwarf.” He felt Thorin laugh against his shoulder. “What’s ibine?”

“'Ibinê.” Thorin corrected. “What you are to me, 'ibinê mim.” Bilbo might have been trying to absorb some of their culture, but Mahâl help him, his pronunciation needed work. “My little gem.” Thorin kissed Bilbo warmly on the tip of his nose. “Unsurpassed by anything that lies beneath the mountain.”

“Thorin.” Bilbo wasn’t often at a loss for words. The hobbit hadn’t said anything after Thorin’s proposal. He hoped the king didn’t think of him as a bit of property to be owned, but his gift really was stunning. Maybe it meant he already accepted, but Bilbo couldn’t think about anything so important on an empty stomach. Determined to interrogate Bofur next time they were alone. Thorin gathered up the hobbit and lifted him onto his chest to admire the messed-up curls and flushed cheeks. All the more comely for knowing he was the cause of it. Thorin got up when he noticed the folded parchment wedged in the gap beneath the door. Bilbo made no attempt to get out of bed. More than happy to let Thorin bend over to pick it up so he could appreciate the downy layer of soft dark hair that decorated most of his bum. The view from his sick bed had definitely improved lately.

Thorin read the note with a customary frown and set it to one side, wanting to stay in bed for a cuddle before they were forced to leave such a perfect haven. Bilbo held out his arms and Thorin slipped back in beside him, nervously fiddling with a dishevelled braid. His eyes instinctively wandered down to the golden bangle still adorning the hobbit’s ankle.

“Do you truly like it?”

“I love it, Thorin.” Bilbo said quietly, painfully aware he had yet to give the king an answer. “It’s very romantic, really. You know, Gandalf said you would come for me. Back in Erebor when I tried to leave. But I couldn’t, Thorin, and then Thranduil came anyway and after that - ” Bilbo broke off, lost in his own thoughts for a moment and wondering just how close he came to pushing up daisies. “I don’t remember.”

“You were very sick, my love.” Thorin petted him. “I feared you might fade away completely.” Bilbo rubbed his cheek against Thorin’s chest in a silent thank you. Even with the threat of a spell hanging over them, nothing could ever compare with the sound of Thorin’s heart beating against his own.

“I’m honoured that you would give me something that belonged to your mother. It’s very beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.” Bilbo never expected Thorin to be so mushy after one night of passion, but he wasn’t complaining. The king nuzzled the tip of one pointy ear with the end of his nose. “I think I would very much like to do that again.”

Bilbo let out a laugh so clear it rang out on every wall before drifting away through the open window. Bilbo was healthy and content. Thorin was so taken by the sweet melody of his happiness, he almost forgot about the darkness just waiting to wreath his heart in shadow.

“I’m sure.” Bilbo averted his eyes, masking a coyness only the memory of sex with his king could evoke. Eventually looking up at Thorin through a stupid grin. _Oh_ , _bollocks_. _I’m completely in love with him_. Bilbo sighed again for the hundredth time since he had awoken to the comfort of a loving embrace. Thorin could see the budding of little bruises where he sucked at Bilbo’s neck when he came, stroking delicate touches over the damaged skin to soothe it. “It might be at least a week before I can sit down. But it _was_ lovely, Thorin. You were very gentle. I don’t know why but I never expected you to be so tender.” Bilbo wriggled back under Thorin’s arm. “I should have you stuffed and set above the mantel in Bag End.” Thorin looked mortally offended.

“Dwarves can be tender.”

“When they want something.” Bilbo laughed again. Thorin’s presence really was intoxicating. “Now tell me what was in that note.”

Most of the morning was gone by the time they were both up and dressed. Thorin insisted on carrying the hobbit again, and Bilbo let him. Thorin was already sore about having to get up at all and Bilbo felt extremely sick. The request for them to meet with Elrond told a very nervous hobbit all he needed to know. Gandalf seemed surprisingly pleased to see them together, even though he had apparently been waiting for them to emerge for some time. The wizard soon gestured for them to follow him outside to a shaded arbour of golden trees. Bordered by huge statues now partially covered with twisted vines. At the edges of the platform were several delicately carved wooden seats set into a circular dais with ornate patterns etched into the base. Bilbo could see a stone plinth rising from the centre.

“We have need of counsel.” Gandalf took a seat next to Elrond. “You are welcome to join us, if you can manage to put my burglar down for a moment.”

Thorin chewed the inside of his cheek, reluctantly releasing the hobbit and joining the Council. Bofur flashed Bilbo a knowing smirk when he slumped down by his side, resisting the urge to prop his feet up. Something had clearly changed between them. Bilbo looked very pale again.

“Alright?”

“Fine.” Bilbo dismissed the dwarf with a vague gesture. He didn’t want anyone to think something was wrong. “Just a little warm.” The hobbit pulled at the collar of his tunic when he felt a bit faint. Tempted to hack down every damn sapling just to let in some air. The wizard spoke first.

“We must decide what is to be done to help Thorin.” Gandalf turned to the king. “I knew you had arrived, but I suspected you were anxious to spend time with Bilbo. It is some weeks since his departure.”

“Too many.” Thorin replied.

“You let him go.” Gandalf reminded him, regretting it the second it left his mouth.

“A decision I will not make the mistake of repeating.” Bilbo let out a little sigh of despair, mainly for Thorin’s benefit. “I have come to take Bilbo home. In my absence, Balin has been instructed to make sure our allies are rewarded.”

“That is well done.” Elrond acknowledged. “And what happened to the white diamonds of the Greenwood?”

Thorin shuffled in his seat, but he didn’t regret sacrificing them.

“They are gone. I gave them to the pixie.”

Bilbo gazed at him in amazement. He never expected Thorin to part with them, and Bilbo suspected very well why he had. Elrond had to bite back a smile. It was the ears. Always the ears.

“That must have been a great loss.”

Bilbo reached out and stroked the king’s fingers to show Thorin how proud he was.

“It was worth it.”

No one else moved or spoke while they listened to Elrond’s advice. Thorin already knew about the kingsfoil, of course. Bofur winked at him as a token of gratitude for keeping his mouth shut. Elrond seemed to think the memory loss was significant. Bilbo knew the river in Mirkwood was enchanted since the journey to Erebor. The waters of that place were the closest to a magic elixir anyone could get hold of without a powerful spell. The sun had almost reached the meridian by the time Elrond paused for breath.

“Your generosity has no doubt stopped another war from brewing.” Bilbo looked up again. Time seemed to have passed him by without even noticing. “For now, at any rate.” The hobbit saw their host twirl a golden ring about his finger. It shone bright around a deep blue stone. Bilbo imagined there was a lot more to Elrond than met the eye. The little hobbit hated their fate being decided as if what he wanted didn’t matter. The different races couldn’t seem to agree on anything and all Bilbo could hear was a rising crescendo of noise that made his head swim. The meeting was in danger of descending into absolute chaos when Thorin suddenly jumped up and brought two large Dwarven fists down on the plinth.

“Itkitî!” And indeed, silence fell. The Council was so quiet, you could have heard a bodkin drop. Thorin was a mighty presence, despite his size (or lack of it). All eyes were suddenly fixed on him. “Enough. Bilbo is still healing. I will not allow him to be upset.”

“Thorin.” Gandalf warned. “We all know you care for him, but this has to be said. If you keep clinging on to some vain hope this might all just go away if you hide him in Erebor, he will break.”

“Then I will break with him!” The echo of Thorin's rage bounced off every pillar.

“Excuse us a moment.” Bilbo stood up and glared at Thorin. Apparently following him back inside was not up for debate. Bofur watched them go with a secret smile.

 _Oh_ , _they definitely did something_.

Thorin was red in the face by the time they reached a secluded alcove.

“Do not shame me in front of the Elves.” Thorin hissed. He was trying to stay as calm as any Dwarf king could when being scolded by a little hobbit, but Thorin was so far out of his comfort zone, it had him all riled up for an argument.

“I’m not one of your subjects, and no one else here dare say it.”

“Bilbo - ” Thorin gasped in surprise. “What more do you want me to do? I just asked you to marry me, and I have still not had an answer.” The hobbit chewed at his lip. “You are my intended, but I am the king.”

“Oh, I know that, your majesty.” Bilbo really didn’t want them to fight, but that dwarf really was dense sometimes. “And you are also a stubborn, clot-headed idiot. You have to understand, Thorin. The elves told you that spell was binding. You can’t just command it to leave you be.”

Bofur heard Lindir speak beside him. He had been sitting at the other side of the dwarf for most of the meeting and was watching the exchange with interest. Bofur hated to admit it, but the elf was surprisingly engaging company. All the two of them could see through a veil of trailing willow was the silhouette of a very animated hobbit wagging his finger at the king. A king who now wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“How long have they been married?”

Bofur huffed a little laugh into his bristles.

“Centuries.”

“Thorin Oakenshield.” Bilbo ranted on. “I have every right to tell you what I think. I gave up everything to be with you, and I’ll thank you kindly to remember it.” Thorin sighed. By Durin, that hobbit was high maintenance.

“And I bartered my life away to come back to you. Have you any idea how much you hurt me every time you disappear? How much it kills me when you never tell me why you keep leaving.”

“Because I want you to live, you stupid dwarf!” Bilbo cried passionately, and he bloody meant it. “I’m not going to apologise for loving you.” Thorin was suddenly staring down at the hobbit in disbelief. Tiny hint of a smile slowly pulling at his mouth.

“You love me?”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Thorin.” Bilbo burst out. “Yes, and don’t even attempt to make me feel guilty for trying to keep you alive. I don’t exactly make a habit of disappearing.” Bilbo ignored the call of the ring in his pocket and the idea that he could in fact, quite literally disappear at any moment.

“Don’t you?” Thorin pouted. “You left me in the Misty Mountains.” He added sulkily, struggling to form a single coherent thought while those words sunk in. That admission had thrown him completely. Bilbo never actually said it before.

“In my defence, you did say I shouldn’t have gone with you.”

“That was before I realised how much I needed you. And you left me alone in Erebor. Sometimes it felt like you ran away.” Thorin swallowed hard. Now Bilbo had confessed, maybe he should too. “I thought you wanted to leave me behind.” The king hesitated, still terrified of being rejected by the only one who would ever hold his heart. “When I woke up after the battle, you weren’t there, bunny.” Thorin forced out the words, voice breaking with emotion. “You weren’t there.”

 _So, that was it_. Bilbo finally understood.

“You remember that?” The hobbit asked, an ache growing in his heart. _He_ was responsible for all the insecurity. All the fear. The king nodded, almost ashamed to admit how much he needed to know he was loved. “Oh, Thorin.” Bilbo hugged him, slipping both arms around the thick neck to pull his dwarf in for a kiss. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to leave you. I would have stayed by your side until my own heart stopped beating.” Bilbo dragged him even closer and buried his nose in Thorin’s hair. “I do love you. Very much.” Bilbo and Thorin returned after they seemed to have come to some kind of truce. The hobbit took his seat again and folded both hands together in his lap. “Please continue.” Elrond did just that, pretending no one had heard Thorin get several strips torn off him for not being able to control himself in front of company.

“I was just explaining how we think the spell dug its way in to Thorin’s heart because he cannot hold on to the one thing he loves most. It matters not who cast it, all are answerable to Eru Ilúvatar. Sulladad, to your kind.” Elrond tipped his head politely towards Thorin, who was still wearing a scowl that could curdle milk. _His kind_. Thorin tutted. He knew the name. To assume he knew nothing about the legends of another race was insulting. He wondered if the elves only tolerated his presence there for Bilbo’s sake, pushing down the spark of jealousy that popped open little green eyes in his soul. Bilbo was his, and he wanted everyone to know it. Thorin was steadily simmering inside while an Elven council kept discussing him like he wasn’t there. “But there is one thing I do not yet understand. Askâdkurdu would imply a shadow spawned from evil, but most Dwarven curses lie on stolen treasure. The Huinë-enda comes from an ancient legend of the Elves.” Elrond said thoughtfully. “I fear this is dark, Mithrandir. To demand a life as payment is something beyond my experience.”

“You don’t think it could be - ” Gandalf interrupted, but his words were cut short.

“Do not speak that name in Imladris.” Elrond commanded, surprisingly sincere. “No. I believe this might be something like the tale of Naugladur. Did he not put such a curse on the Nauglamír, Thorin?”

“That was lost a long time ago.” Thorin huffed. “We do not speak of it.” Gandalf was studying Bilbo a little too closely.

“But still something of infinite value to the Dwarves.”

“Yes.” Thorin agreed. “Beyond price.”

“Oh.” Bilbo gulped when everyone turned to look at him.

“Maybe that is the answer to the riddle.” Gandalf mused, watching the hobbit with a knowing twinkle in his eye. “All that is gold does not glitter.” The wizard said quietly, before turning his attention back to Thorin. “Bilbo is now considered to be the treasure of Erebor, is he not?” Thorin didn’t look uncomfortable, exactly. But that was something private, sacred almost. He drew in a deep breath.

“He is.”

Bilbo felt his heart swell with affection, but he knew it wasn’t over. Trying to fight back the sting of tears when he rose to leave. He desperately needed some air.

“Thorin.” Gandalf said gently. “I know this is hard, but you must deliver Bilbo to Thranduil. He may have come here for healing but the pact still stands.”

Bilbo swayed when everything suddenly started spinning. The hobbit felt his stomach drop. Completely at the mercy of strange hormones drenching his blood since his first bonding with Thorin.

“Well.” Bilbo sighed. He should have expected it, really. Freedom never comes free. “That’s that, then.” He declared, and passed out cold again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. Bakn galikh, 'ibinê : Good morning, my gem  
> Kh. 'Ibinê mim : My little gem  
> Kh. Itkitî : Silence  
> Kh. Sulladad : The All Father/Dwarvish name for Eru  
> Kh. Askâdkurdu : Shadowheart


	24. Small Print

**24\. Small Print**

Thorin watched helplessly as Bilbo crumpled into a heap, cursing himself for not being quick enough to catch the collapsing hobbit in his arms before he hit the ground. Several of the Council moved to help, but the king violently swept them all aside. Steps faltering when a searing pain gripped at his heart. Thorin forced it away and fell to his knees by Bilbo’s side.

“Do not touch him!” Thorin growled, glaring blue daggers over his shoulder as a warning to anyone who dare try their luck. Instinctively petting the hobbit’s soft curves before slipping both hands underneath the limp body to pick him up. Thorin suddenly felt more protective than ever. Maybe because they had sealed their physical bond so irrevocably the night before, or maybe just because Bilbo looked so tiny and defenceless. “He is mine. Mine to look after.”

“For pity’s sake, Thorin.” The only sound in the biting silence that followed was the swish of Gandalf’s robe when he moved, troubled voice just as gentle as the subtle shift of his cloak. “Bilbo is perfectly alright. He _is_ rather prone to fainting fits.” Gandalf explained, sharing a strange look with Elrond. “Carry him inside, Thorin. You shouldn’t find that particularly difficult, considering you haven’t put him down since you got here.”

Thorin already had Bilbo wrapped up in a constrictive hug. Suffocating care so completely focused on the unconscious bundle, Gandalf might as well dish out instructions in Sindarin for all the attention the dwarf gave him. Thorin barrelled into the room set aside for Bilbo and laid him back on a bed that still smelled of sex. The king felt an unexpected jolt of renewed interest when the scent of ravished hobbit slinked up his nose. Thorin stayed close, tenderly stroking the hair from Bilbo’s face. The hobbit mumbled something unintelligible when he finally opened his eyes. Blinking wide in alarm when he realised he wasn’t outside anymore.

“What happened?”

“You swooned, my love.” Thorin explained quietly. “Are you in pain?” The concern in his eyes was beautiful. Bilbo shook his head, patting himself down just to make sure nothing had dropped off.

“No. No, not really.” Bilbo tried to smile. He never meant to cause so much trouble for everyone. “I’m so sorry, Thorin. But this is all just too much for me. I don’t know what to do anymore.” The hobbit usually managed to hold it together pretty well. Thorin knew he was stronger than he looked. Inside and out. At least he thought so, until Bilbo was suddenly sobbing in his arms.

“Bilbo, no.” Thorin felt everything inside him arc so fiercely he almost broke, but Bilbo needed him more than ever. The king was so consumed with comforting the little hobbit, he lapsed into a whispered stream of Khuzdûl. Plump tears soaking into Thorin’s tunic until the damp fabric felt cold against his skin. “Nê birailtisî, bunny.” Thorin whispered into his hair. Holding Bilbo close while he wept, before remembering himself. “Don’t cry.” Bilbo wriggled in Thorin’s rigid embrace, trying to stifle the arousal that prodded at all his sensitive bits every time Thorin fell into his native tongue. Bilbo definitely had a weak spot for it. A kink no respectable Hobbit should ever indulge (or at least admit to in public). Yavanna help him if Thorin ever discovered what that language did to him. Somehow managing to get out a broken sentence between sniffles.

“I’m just so scared. Whatever I said at the meeting, I didn’t mean it. I could never explain how much I love you, and you will always be my king.” Bilbo pressed a soft kiss to Thorin’s cheek. It was the only part he could reach while he was squished up against the dwarf’s chest in a vice. Thorin could feel desire stir inside him again, but he knew Bilbo was vulnerable and upset. He would never take advantage. Dwarven culture demanding he earn the love and trust he expected in return.

“I feared my attentions last night may have been too much, that I hurt you. We were summoned to the Council before I had a chance to ask, but - ” Thorin took one of Bilbo’s hands in his own. “Was my lovemaking acceptable? Were you satisfied?”

“Thorin.” Bilbo spluttered. “You don’t have to make it sound like you never did that before.” Bilbo hesitated when Thorin dipped his head, suddenly staring at some imaginary point of interest between the flagstones. “Oh. Well, yes. Thank you.” Bilbo felt the tears quickly dry on his cheeks. That revelation was unexpected, but he wasn’t sure why. “More than satisfied. You were wonderful.”

“Good. I know such a bond does not mean quite the same for us.” Thorin seemed to brighten at that. “You are not a dwarf, as you delight in reminding me quite often. But what we did last night would mean we are already betrothed in every sense. This is why I asked if you were sure before you let me touch you. It is the contract of azlâf.” Bilbo squirmed again. “It cannot be undone.”

The hobbit stared up at the king in disbelief. Not sure why Thorin neglected to share that while Bilbo was pinned beneath him. Suddenly warmed by the memory of that huge dwarf stretched out beside him in nothing but his branded skin. Thorin bit at the inside of his cheek while he waited for a blasting that never came. The king looked so anxious, Bilbo couldn’t even find it in him to be cross about it.

“Bofur sort of told me once that Dwarves believe they have a One, but so much has happened since then I never got to ask him any more about it.”

“Kun.” Thorin smiled down at the hobbit in his arms, hoping Bilbo would understand why that intimacy was so important to him. “That is true. I do not know what you have been told already, but few ever marry.” The king seemed to relax a little now Bilbo was spellbound by the calming voice and the thick fingers mapping out the contours of his arse. “To some their craft is more important, and some may never meet their true love in this life. But if we do, the contract is forever. We only ever love once. So, it is our One. You are mine, Bilbo. I have never doubted it.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me before, you big lug.” The hobbit reached up to trace loving fingertips through the dark hair.

“I waited for many years. Restoring the kingdom for my father always seemed more important. After so much time without finding you, I convinced myself I would spend this lifetime alone. I needed to learn how to love, and no one else believed in me the way you did. I knew you were the one.”

Those words warmed Bilbo to his soul. They were heartfelt and sincere, but there was something else playing behind Thorin’s eyes. He had risked his life in trying to persuade the hobbit to return to Erebor. Even if the heirs managed to secure a small batch of the herb Elrond asked for, Thorin finally understood his time was running out. Maybe it would be enough to draw out the darkness from Bilbo, but not from him. Gandalf had hinted their fates were forever joined by magic. Bilbo wished he could kiss all their troubles away and guide Thorin through the storm that gathered just beyond the golden trees. The king was so tired lately. All the colour seemed to have left his face. Weary eyes closing again before the hobbit could even get out a response.

Bilbo let Thorin sleep. He felt sick to the very pit of his stomach, knowing it wasn’t just the fresh valley air that was making him so drowsy. His king was dying. The light in his heart slowly being swallowed up by shadow with every passing moment they stayed together. The dwarf had made his misguided intentions abundantly clear and now the hobbit was sitting in warm afternoon sunshine, deep in thought. The gift Thorin had given him sparkled in the fading light. He heard Bofur’s cheery voice cut through agitated thoughts.

“So, it’s official, then?”

“Sorry?” Bilbo turned to look at the dwarf over his shoulder. There was a tall dark-haired elf attached to his side, but for the life of him Bilbo couldn’t remember his name. He still felt funny every time he moved and the wound in his side ached sometimes, despite the depth of Elrond’s care. Bofur nodded his head at the gilded token. “Oh, I suppose so.” Bilbo forced a smile. “Thorin seems to think we’re already betrothed for some reason, but I haven’t actually given him an answer.” Bofur plonked himself next to the hobbit and spat out a bit of chewing tobacco in surprise. He knew the principles of Dwarven contracts, but he didn’t ask for the sordid details. No wonder Thorin had to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon.

“You’re keeping the king waiting?” Bofur whistled. “That’s brave.”

“Oh, Bofur. I want to say yes, of course I do.” Bilbo managed to sit up with a bit of effort. “But I can’t marry him until I’m sure we can be together. That pain I felt when I thought I lost him once. I - ”

Bofur patted the back of Bilbo’s hand. He didn’t need to voice it. Words would never have been enough. Lindir bent his head in acknowledgement of the hobbit’s presence but he said nothing. The elf had spent most of the day listening to Bofur’s tales of the Lonely Mountain, and how his king had come through many dangers to regain his kingdom.

“Well, he is a bit on the possessive side. Being in exile with nothing to show for it tends to make us hang on to the things we want.” The elf suddenly felt very sorry for Bilbo. Wondering how a little hobbit could possibly weather the maelstrom of a Dwarf king’s insatiable demands for very long. He looked like he might wilt away to nothing any minute. "Aye.” Bofur added. “Thorin’s always been a bit intense.”

“How does the halfling take it?” Lindir asked, as an aside. Bofur seemed to completely misunderstand the question, but the elf was far too busy blushing to reply.

“Probably with a great deal of noise.”

The king was awake when Bilbo limped back inside. He reached up and dragged a very surprised hobbit on top of him.

“Thorin.” Bilbo narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to get me back into bed?”

“No. Well, yes.” Thorin stumbled. “But that was not my intention. I meant every word when I asked for your hand.” The king had never been so open with his affections until he realised what was important, and it wasn’t a stupidly uncomfortable crown. Bilbo wanted to talk about anything else to distract himself from hopeless thoughts.

“I wish we could stay here in peace.” Bilbo murmured absently, little nose just visible above the king’s arm. “It makes me feel safe, Thorin. You make me feel safe. Like evil could never reach us here. It’s all just too beautiful.” Thorin reluctantly set the hobbit down and leaned through the open window to pluck a sprig of mountain heather from its branch, twirling it between wide fingers before he tucked it behind one pointy ear. Bilbo heaved in a sigh while he let the delicate scent drench heightened senses. “I think this is my very favourite.”

“When we marry, I shall make you a crown of white bells and paint them with rosy edges.” Bilbo could only smile through the pain in his heart. He had to give Thorin his due. Subtlety would never be his middle name.

“I know you want an answer.” Bilbo said, after a long pause. He couldn’t stall forever.

“I do.” Thorin attempted carefully. “And to stay with me always. Promise you will never leave me again.”

“I don’t think I can promise that.” Bilbo said sadly. “If I come back to Erebor, you’ll - ” He couldn’t even bring himself to say it. Thorin was breathing hard when the hobbit gently touched their lips together again. Wishing everything could be fixed so easily by a kiss. He had just been prolonging the inevitable. “I want to, I really do. I have dreamt of nothing else since the night you first stepped through my doorway.”

“But?” Thorin felt all the air leave his chest. Bilbo tilted his head to one side.

“You know it’s impossible.”

“Impossible?” Thorin echoed. It never crossed his mind that Bilbo might refuse him. “After everything I told you? Everything I have risked for you?” Thorin was struggling to contain his disappointment, still not completely sure which immortal had granted his last request. Suddenly remembering the words that had called him home. _Come back and fulfil your true destiny_. Thorin now believed that destiny was woven around the halfling who had stolen his heart and given him the desire to escape from the void of nothingness that awaited his return.

“That’s got nothing to do with it.” Bilbo tutted. He had to get to the bottom of things once and for all. They would both be laid out in a crypt side by bloody side if it was left to Thorin. “I need to talk with Thranduil and find out what the terms are. See if there’s any small print we can use to get you out of this mess since you refuse to listen to reason.” Bilbo had waited for weeks to see his love again, but now reality had set in. A reality tainted by the memory of a black river and twisted vines. Enormous mushrooms a hobbit could live off for a month. He shivered at the thought of going back.

“I do not wish to step foot in that accursed place again. Perhaps the wizard will help us forge a path.”

“Thorin.” Bilbo said flatly. “You can’t come with me to Mirkwood.”

“I would do it for you.” The king ran one of his sizable fingers down Bilbo’s cheek and across the seam of his lips. “If you asked it of me. Never doubt my loyalty to you.”

“Oh, Thorin.” Bilbo felt himself melt inside. “I don’t. But if we stay together, nothing changes. We would never be free, not really. I don’t know why you can’t understand that.”

“We just need time.”

“But that’s the one thing we don’t have!” Bilbo shouted at him.

“We have enough. Let us wait for Fíli and Kíli. I do not fear for the success of their charge and I would not send them into danger.” Thorin would have to deal with Dís if anything happened to them, and she was terrifying. “My sister would murder me.”

Bilbo knew the fate of the heirs was still undecided. Just because the king had sent the boys off to goodness knows where, there was no guarantee the kingsfoil would work. They should never have died so young. All of them had been given another chance at life, and Bilbo knew this wasn’t just about him anymore. Maybe it never was. Thorin’s words at the Council stabbed at his tattered conscience. The memory of how much he hurt the dwarf he loved every time he left without saying goodbye. Thorin had never been so attentive, so protective. But one more kiss and Bilbo knew his resolve would shatter. He would be damned if he was going to let such a dark history repeat itself.

Bilbo knew it would be his last night in Rivendell. He had to go, and he supposed he must go alone. Soon as Thorin fell asleep again, the hobbit took his chance and made his escape. Little pack stuffed with some light provisions. He almost made it to the path unscathed.

“What are you doing?”

Bilbo heard himself sigh. Bofur was frowning at him in confusion.

“I don’t know why I expected to get away so easily.” Bilbo was determined not to cry. He hitched up his satchel. “Why I stayed here with him, even though I knew I shouldn’t. Maybe I wanted to hold onto that dream just a little longer.”

“You’re not leaving.”

“Yes, I am. Thorin knows I love him. If I don’t make it back, he will always have that. Thank you, Bofur. Thank you for being my friend.”

“Bilbo.” Bofur whispered, voice caught fast behind a sob when the hobbit gave him a tender hug of farewell. “Don’t go.”

“I’m sorry, but I have to. Please take care of Thorin for me until all this is over. He will not understand.”

The dwarf didn’t even blink as he watched Bilbo go, in spite of the round tears flooding his eyes. Heart like a lump of lead in his chest. Bofur couldn’t remember taking a single breath while the blackness closed in around him. Just making out a little moonlit shape creeping under the stars until the hobbit finally disappeared from view. Heading for the dusky shadows of Mirkwood. Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. Nê birailtisî : Don't cry  
> Kh. Azlâf : Sleep/The first stage of betrothal  
> Kh. Kun : Yes


	25. A Hobbit's Tale

**25\. A Hobbit’s Tale**

Bilbo finally let all his emotions break free after trying to stay strong for Bofur. The dwarf would have gone with him if he asked, but someone needed to be there to secure some damage control when Thorin discovered his intended was missing. Prevent him from doing something impulsively reckless. Bilbo had kept it all sealed inside so he would have the courage to keep going before the dam burst. Now hot tears were streaming down his face while he tramped on, picking his way through rabbit holes and ruthless tufts of undergrowth in the dark. It was a lot easier to navigate the unforgiving landscape without the weight of his consort gift locked around one ankle, but Bilbo still felt a twinge of guilt turn his stomach and suddenly heaved into the grass. He had left the golden bracelet next to the bed with a message written from his heart. He could only imagine what level of chaos would erupt in Rivendell if anyone tried to stop Thorin from coming after his hobbit like a wolf chasing a scent trail. Bilbo decided not to rest at all until his legs simply refused to hold him up anymore. Intent on covering some serious distance between the valley and the wood before morning and hoping Thorin could sleep in peace just a little while longer.

By the time dawn was shining on an amber horizon, Bilbo could see the foreboding trees start to dominate a distant skyline. Nothing was any less terrifying in the daylight, and everything hurt. He must have walked for hours. Bilbo eventually found a small clearing and sat down in a patch of reed grass, stroking his weary limbs and trying to map out a route that would take him a week, even if he sprinted it. At least he had some shade and a safe place to rest. He was sore in places he didn’t even want to think about and his heart ached for Thorin. Bilbo was about to weep again just out of sheer hopelessness when he sensed a chilling presence cast a shadow behind him. The hobbit jumped back up (despite his body’s protests). Bilbo blinked a couple of times to clear the haze from his eyes, but it didn’t seem to make much difference now shafts of pale sunlight had forced their way through the heavy canopy above. Scattering silver shadows on every leaf and branch. For a fleeting moment, the barren glade looked almost beautiful. The cloaked shape edged even closer and Bilbo didn’t think his nerves could take much more. His poor little battered heart was pounding, but he didn’t let it show. The hobbit bowed low, mainly to hide the fear in his eyes.

“Good morning to you. Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” He couldn’t disguise the tremble in his voice when he dared to lift up his gaze and take in the silhouette. It seemed to trail on forever.

“I know your name, halfling.” The familiar sound was like cool water dripping over burning skin. Soft and soothing but still so intense, Bilbo believed it could only be the spirit who called to him once before. He had to be sure.

“Then you have me at the advantage.” Bilbo offered politely. It was always best to show some decent manners, even if you were about to be reduced to a pile of ash. “I would be honoured to know yours.” A mirthless laugh issued from beneath a shrouded mantle that might have passed for a hood at a squint. Bilbo sensed a secret purpose so carefully concealed, he decided to give this stranger a chance to prove him right.

“So, the little Dwarven treasure has a silver tongue. How fitting.”

“Dwarves?” Bilbo drawled slowly. Pretending to be completely at a loss, just in case. The hobbit was still tortured by the knowledge he betrayed the king once. He would never let it happen again. “No, no. No dwarves here. You’ve got that all wrong. As you see, I am quite alone.” That hurt much more than it should, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Rivendell was just a fading light in the distance behind him.

“I do not think so. And you already know my name or guess it well enough. We have met before.” The hobbit sighed. He hated being right all the time. Irmo seemed to be weighing up the quality of Bilbo’s heart on an invisible scale of justice. “I have walked inside your dreams, little one. I know what you desire. What I don’t understand, is why you seem so determined to give your life for another.” Bilbo paused for a second. He knew what he wanted to say but dark magic came in many forms. He expected one of the Valar to be a bit more bloody helpful.

“I have my reasons.”

“Reasons.” Irmo seemed set on provoking him. “He is insecure, possessive. Unreasonable.”

“Brave, strong. A true leader.” Bilbo shot back. No one was going to bad-mouth the dwarf he loved. Immortal or not. Neither one of them needed to speak his name. They both knew it was about Thorin. It was always about Thorin. “I was lost for so long without him. I pledged my life on the day I agreed to join the quest. He never knew it, but he already saved me.” Bilbo meant that with every inch of his being. Irmo was quiet for a long time.

“High praise for a fallen king, halfling. Do you really deem him worthy of so much adoration?”

“I do.” Bilbo didn’t even have to think about it. “Thorin needs to be loved for who he is, not for what he can do to help his people. I am not a dwarf, or a great lord but I would defend him until my last.”

“Oakenshield let his mind become twisted by a lust for gold.”

“Yes, he did.” Bilbo agreed, but that was no longer the king who held him close in the night. Kissed him so deeply it always took his breath away. “But he is also loving and gentle. With a loyalty so fierce, it goes far beyond the custom of his kind. It wasn’t him.” Bilbo added softly, almost to himself. “The madness.”

“Ah, yes. The king’s jewel.” The spirit hummed. “That will corrupt his mind until the day he lets it go. Do you think he would always have chosen you? The only thing that dwarf longed to embrace before the end was his weakness for a bloodless stone.” The reminder of his own treachery sparked something painful inside Bilbo, realising just how much he wanted to feel Thorin’s arms wrapped around him again.

“You don’t have to be cruel.” Bilbo sniffed, twitching his nose in distaste to drive home the point. The little hobbit’s heartache seemed to draw out some kinder words from deep inside an eternal soul.

“You really do love him.” Bilbo nodded, but he didn’t look up. He suddenly felt very small and insignificant. “I understand now, but I am not the one who called to Thorin Oakenshield in the dark.” Bilbo felt cold fear stick in a throat that already felt like it got scrubbed raw.

“What?”

“I am but a messenger and answer only to Ilúvatar. It was he who sent my lady Estë to aid the Lord Elrond when you needed healing and rest. You are very brave for one so small. It was enough to spare your life.” Bilbo felt his heart sink at the mention of Imladris. He already missed the calm peace and the scent of many flowers budding in Spring sunshine, but he had to keep going.

“I remember those dreams. You told me I needed something that could shine bright enough to break that stupid spell. In Rivendell, there was talk of some Elven jewels that might work. If I can find one, could I save him?” The spirit seemed completely unmoved by Bilbo’s desperation.

“Impossible.” Irmo replied firmly. “The Silmarils are indestructible and lost to legend a long time ago.”

“Then, please help me.” Time was slipping through his hands like water while the shadow continued to claim Thorin’s heart. “I don’t know what else to do.” Bilbo swallowed a tight breath. “He’s going to die.” Irmo eventually seemed to take pity on the little hobbit when fresh tears started to sparkle at the corners of his eyes.

“Yes. But Khazad may go to the Halls of Mandos to help rebuild Arda when their time of passing comes.” The spirit said gently. “Mahâl, their maker will care for them. Ilúvatar promised to give them a place among his children after the last battle.” If that was supposed to make Bilbo feel better, it didn’t.

“But this isn’t just about Thorin anymore. I think he must have saved the line of Durin.” Bilbo presumed these Valar types could go wherever they damn well pleased. There was no one to protect Fíli and Kíli on the road. Bilbo suddenly felt very afraid for their safety.

“You believe the heirs are bound to you?”

“I think so. The boys were dead, I saw them fall. Please - ” Bilbo begged, sinking back to his knees in the dewy grass. “I can’t do this on my own. I tried. I really tried to make it right but everything I do goes wrong and I just end up making it all a hundred times worse. I don’t make good decisions around Thorin. I almost gave the stone back to him once, but I couldn’t let it take him. I would rather have severed our friendship forever than give him the chance to fall. I kept it hidden from him. He trusted me, and I betrayed him. When he asked what I carried, I showed him my little acorn instead and for one blissful moment.” Bilbo paused for breath when he let the memory flood his swimming vision. “Thorin was himself again. I have kept that smile locked away inside me ever since.” Irmo said nothing, but Bilbo could feel the piercing eyes trained on him while he spoke. “He was so hurt when he realised what I had done.” The hobbit suddenly had a horrible flashback of being dangled over the ramparts. “But even in his sickness, he didn’t really hurt me. Not physically, at any rate. My heart was a different matter altogether.” Bilbo buried his face in both hands at the memory. “I saw the look in his eyes. He wanted to kill me.”

“And now he wants you to lay with him.” Irmo didn’t seem to expect a reply but Bilbo didn’t see a single point in denying it.

“Yes.” Scattered thoughts wandered back to Thorin’s gift. It made him feel sick again. “He asked for my forgiveness before the end but I wouldn’t have changed it. I was glad to have shared those perils with someone like him.” The hobbit stopped talking after he finally got a chance to tell his tale. No one ever really cared to ask him before. Bilbo knew the dwarves he loved valued his life, but never thought about how he felt inside. Never asked him to share the memories he held on to when everything else seemed so dark. Even Gandalf just sent him home alone without suggesting he get some therapy.

“Do you think the king sacrificed the peace of death to come back to you?”

“Oh, I wanted so much for that to be true.” Bilbo almost smiled. “But I suppose I’ll never know for sure.” Hobbit sense kept clattering around in his head, warning him to exercise some caution in front of a celestial being but the hobbit could never seem to keep his mouth shut when he was waxing on about Thorin. “I begged him not to leave me, but there was nothing I could do. His wound was too deep. Mithrandir sent me home but everything felt so dreadfully unfinished somehow. Like I was being pulled back to Thorin, even though I believed in my heart he was gone.” Irmo was left stunned by this strange insight into the complexities of such a tiny creature. So inconsequential to most, but with enough power to hold the fate of an entire kingdom in his little hands. Not many could boast the same. “I don’t think he remembers much. But I loved him then, and I love him still. More than anything.”

“Would you do it all again, if it was asked of you?”

Bilbo knew it was a test, but even that couldn’t draw a lie from his lips. He never wanted to relive the grief he remembered when he believed Thorin was lost forever. _And what was the point, honestly?_ He already knew how it would end.

“Maybe not right from the beginning.” Bilbo whispered. “I know what I have to do. Find a stone powerful enough to break the curse?” Bilbo attempted carefully. “Elrond had a special ring. I saw it.”

“Yes. It is Vilya, the ring of air. But that would not shine bright enough to cure a Shadowheart. Do you not have one of your own? A ring that is precious to you?”

“Precious?” Bilbo mumbled, reminded of the threat of being consumed by Gollum while fingers searched inside his jacket for the cold touch of metal. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. I almost forgot I had it.” Bilbo curled his hand protectively around the band of gold when the shadow of this great spirit was suddenly blocking out what little sunlight was straining to break through the leaves above his head.

“Show it to me.”

Bilbo hesitated. The ring had been buried untouched and forgotten in the depths of his pocket, but now he felt his skin prickle. He didn’t want to share the glint of its perfection with anyone.

“Why? I fail to see what my ring has to do with anything. I just want to help Thorin.”

“Do you not recall the message from your dreams? This is about Thorin.” Irmo said impatiently. “Thorin, and the child foretold, halfling.”

“Just tell me what that means.” Bilbo pleaded, never quite understanding the implications of it since the first time Lórien invaded his thoughts.

“I am forbidden. That is something you must discover for yourself in time.”

Bilbo took in a fractured breath.

“ _Can_ anything be done to help Thorin?” Bilbo persisted, shaking off his irritation and trying to direct the conversation elsewhere. The ring stayed put. “Can he be saved?”

“Perhaps.” Irmo was studying the hobbit with a thoughtful expression. “There is only one path left to take if your king refuses to relinquish his hold on you. Thorin Oakenshield still has a purpose here, but he cannot do it alone. You once told me that you would give your life for him.”

“And to that I hold.” Bilbo bowed his head, almost scared to look up again in case he had to prove it on the spot.

“Then I will come to you again, if your heart stays true.”

“If that is the only way to stop the curse from claiming him, I give it willingly. I can’t watch someone I love just fade away. Leave him to wander lost between worlds with no hope of ever seeing the light again. That would be worse than death.”

“There are many things worse than death.” Bilbo heaved in an enduring sigh. Not a particularly useful thing to say under the circumstances. He still had to get through a very dark forest. Even if he did make it to the Elvenking’s halls, Bilbo had little hope that Thranduil would care to speak with him at all. “I already know your mind and time is pressing. I am prepared to take you to the edge of the Greenwood. The rest you must face alone.” _Sounds about right_. Bilbo thought dismally. It’s not like that was even a novel experience anymore. The hobbit brushed himself down, and if another immortal turned up and asked to see his ring then he was just going to keep the damn thing in his pocket. “Ready?” Irmo reached out a huge arm towards him.

“No.” Bilbo took his hand, screwing both eyes shut when everything started spinning. “Not even a little bit.”


	26. Gods And Monsters

**26\. Gods And Monsters**

Thorin knew something was seriously wrong the second blue eyes fluttered open. Warm senses suddenly swamped with cold fear in response to the empty space beside him where Bilbo should have been. Thorin shot out of bed like an arrow. Frantically calling his lover’s name while he overturned discarded clothes and crumpled linen as if the hobbit might suddenly pop out from underneath them. His heart almost stopped when he noticed the message from Bilbo propped up against the circlet of gold. Thorin grabbed for it, close to ripping it to shreds while his hands were shaking. He read the note in silence, pain gripping at his soul with every scripted word.

 _To my dearest love and my one true King_  
_I’m sorry to leave without saying goodbye but we both know you would only have tried to stop me. I’m so glad that someone brought you back to me but it has to be over, Thorin. I want us to live in peace and happiness. For us to marry and stay in Erebor, if that is your wish. I would give anything for you to be saved, even my life. I have to free you from this curse or die trying. I will return to you if I can, I swear it. Never forget that I have always loved you, Thorin Oakenshield._

The king was a complete mess by the time Bofur found him. Poor Thorin looked like he had just witnessed the ghost of every last Durin parade before him in an unbroken line.

“Is that from Bilbo?” Bofur asked anxiously. He felt very guilty for letting the king sleep on while his hobbit tramped off in search of redemption. Thorin could only manage a mute nod and handed over the scrunched-up parchment. Bofur cared for Bilbo as deeply as only a true friend could. He would hate to let the hobbit go charging into danger for nothing. “He loves you very much, you know. I hope ye don’t want him just to - ” Bofur struggled to find the right word without insulting the king. Not sure if there was a clean version in Westron. He knew Thorin would understand what he was hinting at. “Ifsêl.” Thorin shook his head.

“No. If it was only that, my heart would not feel like it is breaking apart in my chest. Please help me, such a veil was over my sight.” The dwarf gave a profound sigh. “Âti ni amrâl, bâhayê.” Thorin was suddenly reaching out to his friend for a familiar comfort he didn’t realise he needed. “Bring him back to me.” It was whispered through helpless tears. “I am nothing without him.” Thorin touched their foreheads together, an unspoken promise suspended between them until the Consort of Erebor was returned to the arms of his love.

All Bilbo could remember was a pounding behind his eyes before everything went black. Irmo had somehow transported a very dizzy hobbit almost a hundred and fifty miles in the blink of an eye. Bilbo clutched one hand to his head while the images blurred in and out of focus. He landed on his arse and threw up between his knees where they were spread apart. Trying to take in enough air to stay vertical.

“Are you sick?” Two unblinking eyes were staring down at him accusingly.

“I don’t think so.” Bilbo gasped in another breath. “But I have felt a bit funny the last couple of days.” The hobbit didn’t have time to say anything else when Irmo interrupted him, attempting to fill in a few gaps.

“You were unconscious for most of the journey. But as you can see, I have delivered you to the borders of Mirkwood. It is still over forty leagues from the Elven gate to the Forest River beyond. The hall of Thranduil lies between the eastern border and the north bank. I wish you luck, Master Hobbit. Much depends on you.” Bilbo would really have liked to get all this destiny business cleared up before he went inside to embrace whatever dark fate awaited him.

 _Please not spiders_. _Please not spiders_. It resonated in his head like a litany.

“Wait.” The hobbit cried out, suddenly patting himself down. “I can’t find my acorn.”

“Acorn?” Irmo frowned. “What does it matter? That will not protect you from the dangers that lie within.”

“I know that.” Bilbo answered bluntly, now ferreting around in his back pack to try and find the seed. “But it was my lucky charm.” He suddenly coloured up at the admission. “It’s silly really. I meant to plant it, but something made me feel like I should keep it safe. Even just to look at sometimes. It gave me hope I would see Thorin again one day.” The only thing that had kept Bilbo going when he went home was holding on to the promise of a reunion in the afterlife. He tried his pockets again and tutted in frustration. “It was a way to remember the adventure when I felt sad. It always amazed me how something so beautiful and mighty can grow from something so small. Blast it all. I must have lost it in Rivendell. Well, I will have to go on without it and hope my luck holds.” He said decisively. “If there’s even the slightest chance I can help Thorin, I must take it.”

“Still determined to enter the ancient Greenwood alone just to save another.” Irmo seemed to be considering something serious for a moment. “You are either very brave, or very foolish.”

Bilbo sniffed and abandoned his search for the precious acorn.

“It’s a fine line.”

“Well, then.” Irmo said softly, new respect dawning for this strange little hobbit. “I suppose courage doesn’t always roar. There is much more about you than meets the eye.”

“Oh, I’m quite uncomplicated really.” Bilbo replied honestly. “All I want is peace and quiet. A cosy home full of warmth and someone I love to share it with.” Bilbo tried to ignore how that stuck in his gullet. His life had meant nothing without Thorin. He had no idea how their story would end now but it wasn’t looking very promising whichever way you sliced it.

“You have never loved before.” Irmo suggested, and it wasn’t a question. Bilbo supposed that was the bonus of spitballing when you were omnipotent. You were usually pretty close to the mark.

“No.” Bilbo forced out. The conversation was getting more painful by the minute. “And I never will again.”

“This I already guessed.”

Bilbo sighed, not sure why anyone would put him through the torture of so much soul-searching when he was already close to collapse. He did his very best to rise above it.

“Yes, well. I still have to get as deep into the forest as I can before nightfall. Thank you for the er - ride, I suppose. If you have no objections, I will be on my way now.”

Bilbo sounded much braver than he felt. He could practically feel his insides trembling when he looked up at the huge gateway. It loomed over him like the terrible antlers of some unseen monster beneath the earth that might break through the barren ground and snatch him up at any second. The frightened hobbit could only imagine how long it had been standing there, marking the edge of a forbidden kingdom. Stripped of bark and bleached almost white where its curves were touched by many centuries of sunshine. The only light that could reach through the dense thickets above.

“Very well. But we shall meet again, I think.” Irmo’s voice was almost lost to the morning air when he disappeared into the breeze. “Yes, we shall meet again.”

Bilbo knew he couldn’t stall forever. May as well get it over with and have done. The hobbit had a sneaking suspicion the enchanted forest would be the death of him, but the horrifying alternative spurred him on. Time didn’t seem to pass at all as he walked around in hopeless circles, imagining unseen dangers in every crook and hollow. The darkness seemed to close in around him even though he knew it couldn’t be much past midday.

He was still picking his way through light undergrowth on the western border when he heard a subtle rustle shake the leaves above his head. Bilbo braced himself to brush away a handful of sticky webbing when something tall and blonde dropped down on the path right in front of him. Bilbo went straight for Sting but instinct stopped him from pulling the blade from its sheath.

“Legolas!” Bilbo cried in delight. Wondering if he was still hallucinating until he felt a firm grip on his hand. He never hoped to see a single friendly face in the dark depths of the wood, but to bump into an Elven prince who knew the twisted pathways like the back of his pretty hand was more than any Baggins deserved.

“Perian.” The elf was suddenly holding his fingers so tight, Bilbo couldn’t possibly go wandering off again. “I heard you had entered at the gate. What would possess you to come here alone? Ada would have sent for you once we had news you were healed.” The elf paused when he finally gave the hobbit a once over with those keen eyes. “You look terrible.” Bilbo was so relieved to see him, he couldn’t even pretend to be offended and leaned in for a hug. Hoping Legolas would hold him up if his knees decided to give way. Even through his heartache, the memory of a romantic proposal managed to spark a little smile.

“Thorin asked me to marry him.”

“By all the Valar, this is happy news.” Legolas squeezed Bilbo’s hand. “You accepted, of course.”

“Actually, no.” Bilbo apologised, and bit at his lip. “It’s a long story. One I must tell you on the way. We don’t have much time, Legolas.”

It took them a few days to ride to the halls, even on the back of an Elven steed. Legolas was quiet for the most part, and Bilbo had too much time on his hands to think about what he was risking. The path through Mirkwood had brought back some painful memories of the loss he suffered during the quest. Maybe if the Company had never been held captive by Thranduil, Kíli might have escaped the Morgul-shaft that claimed him. Made him so weak, he couldn’t put up a decent fight at the end. Bilbo shivered. He supposed it didn’t really matter now the boys were back up and kicking but that was an image that would forever haunt his nightmares.

The royal guard was already waiting for them on the steps when they arrived. The Elvenking had been expecting them. Bilbo wondered how humiliated Thorin must have felt when he was brought before him. _Thorin_. Thoughts of him always seemed to creep back at the most inconvenient moments. Thranduil was perched gracefully on his throne when they entered the main chamber. The elf seemed to sense how much sadness the hobbit carried with him, and just had to point it out. Never one for making his guests feel particularly welcome.

“You are full of sorrow.” Thranduil offered unhelpfully. “And still a little broken.”

Bilbo thought he could see a faint smile of smug satisfaction almost break through the icy mask the Elvenking seemed to have permanently etched across his face.

 _Yes,_ _and more than a little_. Bilbo ignored the stupid voice in his head and kept quiet. His only priority now was to strike a bargain and make sure Thorin would be safe.

“I have come to honour the gift of Eru.” Bilbo bowed respectfully.

“Then you understand that I am duty bound to keep you here.” Thranduil knew he had lingered too long already. “This is not my doing. I have an order from a power much greater than I am.” The elf was already planning to send an escort to retrieve his charge from Imladris. Never expecting the halfling to just land on his doorstep and offer himself up as insurance. “I would prefer not to have to lock you away in our dungeons until your fate is decided. I am sure your little Dwarf friends told you how unpleasant that can be.” Legolas suddenly sprang forward to defend the hobbit, stretching out one arm protectively to serve as a barrier between Bilbo and the king. The elf jumped up in response to the challenge. “Peace, Legolas.” Bilbo thought it unlikely Thranduil would get his precious hands dirty on tying up a worthless hobbit. “If the halfling stays here of his own will, that should not be necessary.”

“I would not have come back if I didn’t intend to stay. I know the terms, and I would do anything to save Thorin.” Bilbo had pushed himself up on the ends of his toes, but it didn’t have much effect. Thranduil still towered over him. The king seemed to hesitate, lost in thought. This creature was probably of little consequence to the fate of Arda, but Thranduil saw a lot of heart there, even if his own had become a cold stone in his chest.

Elrond and Gandalf had been deep in hushed conversation when Thorin burst into the courtyard the morning Bilbo disappeared, a wild desperation flickering in his eyes. Threatening to tear Middle-earth apart just to find the hobbit and strap him to one of the pillars inside the Lonely Mountain to make sure Thorin never lost him again. The wizard knew it was a waste of time arguing with such a stubborn dwarf and even more pointless to try and stop Bilbo from completing the spell. Gandalf remembered the ancient legends all too clearly. Kindness and love might help stay the darkness but only Bilbo’s unconditional devotion to Thorin could truly free him from the curse of a Shadowheart.

Gandalf had stepped aside to let some of Elrond’s guard pass by while he tried to come up with something slightly more strategic than running all the way to Mirkwood on a maybe. Some of the elves had hinted at a theory that just might work. Sorcery could be shaped to many purposes if one had the skill. Something that could shine like a mirror and reflect the magic back was all they had to go on. There were a few possibilities. The gems of Eryn Lasgalen. The glint of the Arkenstone. Even the black waters of the enchanted river might serve, but it would certainly help to know who cast it. This seemed to be a spell so cruel, Gandalf believed no Elf would use something that wicked. Even on a Dwarf. Stealing precious memories and wreathing a shadow inside Thorin’s heart and soul until he was nothing but a loveless wraith.

The thud of a painful crack to a delicately sculpted Elven jaw had brought Gandalf crashing back to the problem at hand. Thorin was impossible to restrain for long and refused to listen to counsel. Both Gandalf and Elrond had already tried to reason with him, and both ended up on the receiving end of some very colourful Dwarvish curses. Nothing but the safety of his little hobbit even mattered anymore. Thorin was determined to escape the leafy confines of Imladris and rescue Bilbo from a land of gods and monsters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. Ifsêl : To mate/Fuck  
> Kh. Âti ni amrâl, bâhayê : I am in love, my friend  
> Si. Perian : Halfling  
> Si. Ada : Father


	27. The Shadow Of The Past

**The Shadow Of The Past**

Thorin relentlessly harassed every last elf in Elrond’s halls just to find out if anyone had seen Bilbo leave. Know which path he had taken. Bofur had to shadow him like they were attached at the hip. His internal filter seemed to have abandoned him completely and Bofur knew the king hadn’t eaten or slept for several days. There were many different routes to Mirkwood and all of them were fraught with danger. Thorin never felt so powerless to save the hobbit he had come to love.

“Why don’t we take another peek at that letter.” Bofur was determined to provide a distraction. Thorin had gone ballistic before eventually collapsing from exhaustion. Bofur managed to get him back to the room he once shared with the hobbit. “There might be some hint we could use.” Thorin had kept the cherished message from Bilbo secreted away inside his tunic. He must have read it a thousand times since that fateful morning but maybe a new perspective couldn’t hurt. Thorin reached inside his pocket and carefully handed it over. “Well.” Bofur said eventually. “It looks like he intends for you to marry one day. That’s something.” The dwarf just wanted to see his king smile again. That only ever happened lately when Bilbo was in groping distance.

“Is it?” Thorin sulked, shoulders drooping when he slumped down on the bed where he had claimed Bilbo so completely. Aimlessly picking up the consort gift just to fill his hands with something other than a soft little halfling. “Then why would he leave me?” Thorin ran thick fingers over the curves of the golden bracelet with a touch so reverent, he might have been caressing Bilbo’s skin. “Leave this?”

Bofur didn’t hesitate to defend his friend. Only he had seen the depth of pain in Bilbo’s eyes when he left him at the edge of the valley.

“He’s only doing what he thinks is right, Thorin. He just wants to save you because he loves you. Is that really so hard to understand?”

Thorin’s eyes were already sliding closed. He had been running on adrenaline for days.

“No. No, it is not.” The king slipped Bilbo’s gift over one wrist with a bit of effort. It fit the hobbit much better. “Then, I shall wear this in his stead until I can hold him again.” Thorin sighed so deeply, Bofur could hear a rush of air surge out of him. “I miss him so much.” Bofur suspected Thorin might not have been quite so vocal about how his spirit ached if he wasn’t suspended on the edge of sleep.

“I know ye do.” Bofur comforted. He missed Bilbo too, and he wasn’t sleeping with him. The dwarf could only imagine how that loss must tear at Thorin’s heart. “Maybe Lord Elrond could help.” Thorin shot up again, blue eyes burning.

“My business is no concern of Elves.”

“King or not, Thorin Oakenshield.” Bofur replied. “I could bless you with a mattock sometimes. You made it their business when you set to throttle information out of them all since Bilbo left.” Thorin was still growling when he settled on his side in a vain attempt to get some rest.

“By my life.” The king murmured, before familiar nightmares took him. “I am going to get him back.”

Bofur hoped with everything he had that Thorin’s life was the one thing he would never have to give.

Dís got word from the border scouts that her boys were heading back to Ered Luin only a few days before they arrived, bedraggled tails dangling proverbially behind them. The journey had actually been rather uneventful and bordering on dull if anyone had cared enough to ask Fíli his opinion on the matter. No one in the Blue Mountains expected them to return within a few short months, so their mother instinctively knew something important must have called them home again. She hugged them both warmly in turn while their weary ponies were taken to the stables to rest. The boys washed and changed before joining their mother for supper. Kíli was on his sixth chicken leg before she managed to get anything out of them at all.

“I would have you tell me why you have returned.” Dís prodded them. “Whatever it is, I imagine my brother is behind it.”

“Hmm.” Kíli hummed, still chewing on his food. “Retaking the mountain didn’t quite pan out as planned, for all his good intentions. Something about a spell and that kingsfoil stuff, but I’m too tired and hungry to even think about it right now. He was on his way to Rivendell when we parted.” Fíli and Kíli shared a special look only they would understand. “Seems the quest meant nothing without his little Baggins.”

“What’s a Baggins?”

Fíli emptied a mouthful of ale through his nose. As if being safely home again wasn’t enough to lift their dampened spirits after such an arduous journey, the look on their mother’s face was priceless.

“Something that will soon sit on the throne of Erebor if Uncle has anything to do with it. Bilbo is a halfling.”

Dís almost dropped her mead.

“A malkân?”

“Aye.” Kíli had a wicked sparkle of delight in his eyes. Bilbo couldn’t have been more perfect if Mahâl hand-picked him, just for Thorin. Maybe he did. “He’s a cute little thing, 'Amad. You would love him.”

“And this is the one my brother has chosen?” Dís drew in a sharp breath, stunned that the king had finally found someone to rule by his side. “But Thorin needs an heir.” She reached out for Fíli when he pouted at her. “I know you do not wish for so much responsibility, my son.” She could see her boy wasn’t ready to take on an entire kingdom. “Not yet.”

“I can do it, if Fí doesn’t want to.”

Dís spared her youngest a pitying glance.

“Probably best if you leave that to someone else, sweetheart.” Kíli just shrugged. Much more intent on stuffing a very willing stomach after so many days living on nothing but shoots and berries. “I know very little of these halflings.” Dís added numbly. Thorin had never shown any interest in love before. “Are they able to bear young?”

“Male ones? I doubt it.” Kíli snorted. “But Hobbits do seem to be able to grow just about anything.”

Legolas had taken it upon himself to watch over Bilbo while he was a guest in their halls. He felt more like a prisoner than anything else, but it would have been rather bad manners to point it out. Legolas was taking Bilbo to the room Thranduil had graciously decided to stash the hobbit in until he was sure what to do with him.

“I’m sorry about all this, Bilbo.” The elf looked genuinely pained to be a part of anything that involved holding an innocent hobbit hostage.

“It’s not your fault.” Bilbo said quietly, refusing to rub away the water filling up his eyes. “We always knew the cost.”

“It’s not your fault, either.”

“Maybe I’m not meant to be happy.” Bilbo murmured softly. “Sometimes I think I deserve to be punished for betraying someone I love.”

“You did it for the right reasons. Leave that regret in the past if he truly makes you happy.” Legolas smiled so serenely, Bilbo could see many years of wisdom reflected in his bright eyes.

“He does - did.” Bilbo corrected. “There’s just something about the way he makes me feel. That dwarf holds me so tight when we kiss, I sometimes think I might pass out. I want to save him, Legolas. He doesn’t deserve death.”

“Many do not deserve death, and some who die deserve life.”

Bilbo hummed thoughtfully. That blasted elf always managed to come up with a valid point (none of which ever made him feel better).

“I admire him so much. That he could love even the tiniest bit of me is more than I ever hoped for. But to marry him - ” Bilbo broke off with a dreamy sigh. “I can’t imagine anything I want more.”

“Do not despair.” Legolas held out one arm towards him. “That time may yet come.”

Bilbo didn’t look particularly convinced.

“I asked Gandalf if the spell was broken once before, but I already have my answer.” The hobbit gazed around at the many winding paths that spread out in every direction. How anyone managed to navigate that place in the dark was a mystery. “I wish you could see him the way I do. He is not himself.”

“Actually.” Legolas took Bilbo’s hand to guide him over the tangled roots that seemed to make up most of the passage floor. “I rather like him.”

“You do?” Bilbo gaped at the elf in amazement.

“Hmm.” Legolas wasn’t just saying it for Bilbo’s sake. “For all Thorin makes out he doesn’t need anyone, there’s something so _fragile_ inside him. With a warmth only you seem to be able to draw from him.” Bilbo closed his eyes, letting his mind fill with the beautiful memory of Thorin’s mouth covering his own.

“I think it must have been that ridiculous Took part of me that wanted to go running off into the blue. But now I know him, I could never pick up the threads of another life. Not without Thorin.”

“I am starting to understand why you love him so deeply. Take courage, Bilbo. The mightiest shadow can be defeated by the smallest ray of light. For even in the darkness, your heart feels his presence.”

More passed between them in that moment than was said in words alone. Now Bilbo was definitely going to cry and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He wondered if Legolas already guessed what the ultimate price for Thorin’s life would be. Elves really were a little too smart for their own good sometimes.

“That’s very poetic.”

“I’m an elf, remember.” Legolas teased him. “It’s implied.” Bilbo managed to force a tiny smile through his tears. “I don’t think your story is over just yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing.” Legolas replied quickly. “Just something Ada said.” Bilbo was frowning up at him in confusion. Suddenly reminded of the way Irmo looked at him just before he disappeared. “Never mind.” Legolas seemed to think better of sharing. “Maybe there is some way you can return to him.”

“There is no going back. Not for me.”

Legolas unexpectedly pulled Bilbo close and stroked comforting fingers up and down his little arm. The elf suddenly looked very serious. “I will do everything I can to help you, Bilbo. No one wants to die alone.”

There was no disputing how sincere Legolas was, but Bilbo deliberately diverted the conversation elsewhere now that was looking more likely than the ending he so desperately longed for.

“Be careful what you wish for.” Bilbo didn't miss the bitter irony there. He would hate for anyone to get dragged down with the rest of them. Legolas had already done more than any hobbit could have asked for. “At least I got to see Thorin again. Had that time to give myself to him, heart and soul. When you believe your love is dead and you get a second chance to hold them - ” Bilbo paused. The memory of Thorin’s passing was still a wound that would never fully heal. “Nothing else really matters.” Bilbo was just trying to make out his imminent annihilation was all for the best, but Legolas wasn’t about to be shot down by so much transparent bullshit.

“Do you think Thorin will recover if the curse is broken? Sometimes a dark spell like that can leave a deep scar.”

“I do.” Bilbo said thoughtfully. That dwarf already had enough scars to last a lifetime. “In fact, I think he might even be improved. The way he looks at me now. There’s something beautiful there, Legolas. But it will fade away forever if I don’t do something soon.”

“You don’t know that. Even darkness must pass. Another day will always come, and each new dawn brings fresh hope.”

“Sometimes I don’t want to know the end.” Bilbo whispered. “Because how can the end be happy?”

“But you keep going anyway.” Legolas smiled again. “Keep holding on to that hope. Some things are worth fighting for.”

“Yes, they are.” Bilbo resolved right there to see it through to whatever end awaited him. Starting to understand that the curse would eventually claim the life of one of them.

Gandalf and Elrond spent another day discussing their next move. At the Council, it was clear Thorin had finally paid the debt to Bard and both of them assumed his people would help since the king made good on his word. But victory over the shadow could not be secured by force alone. Their allies were now many miles away and Thorin would never return to Erebor while Bilbo was still missing.

“When they are apart, his life force is stronger.” Gandalf was talking to himself again. “Thorin grew weak when they were together. He still refuses to honour whatever promise he made in death.”

“But not by his own choice.” Elrond cut in. Wondering if that might be relevant somehow. “Bilbo has now made that decision for both of them. Do you believe this will change anything?”

“I fear you will not dissuade Thorin in this, regardless of the terms. We will have need of vigilance. Let us buy Bilbo some time. Let him accomplish what he has set out to do. Great heart will not be denied.”

“A diversion.” Elrond murmured. Even he seemed impressed by the idea they might be able to draw some royal attention away from Mirkwood. For a while, at least. “Do you really think Thorin will go after the halfling?” Gandalf couldn’t resist a small laugh, but there was no smile behind it.

“I would be more surprised if he didn’t. Thorin and Bilbo are bound together somehow.” The wizard was still at a loss to explain why they both seemed so determined to sacrifice themselves for each other. “I would have said it was just the magic, but I have thought for some time now those two are connected in a way even I cannot tell.” Gandalf felt sure there was something much darker at work. Sauron had revealed himself to the wizard when he searched Dol Guldur. “The Lady of Lorien once told me the Necromancer was not what he seemed.” That threat was ever present, but now he knew his adversary had awoken. Gandalf never intended to put someone he cared for in so much danger. Elrond had confronted the dark enemy before but dared not speak his name. That abomination was the epitome of cruelty and malice. Men who desire power are so easily corrupted. Thorin had such a weakness for the Arkenstone (and now for Bilbo) he may as well have a target painted on his back. An obsession like that might bend even a Dwarven king to their will if someone knew where to hit him. Control over an heir of Durin could get him back in with Aulë. “Master Elrond?” Gandalf seemed to have had a silent epiphany. “You are blessed with the gift of foresight. Will you not tell me what you have seen? Death?” The wizard suddenly felt a sharp prick of alarm.

“Yes.” Elrond said slowly. “But there is also life.” He had not forgotten the prophetic visions that drenched his senses when Bilbo stayed in Rivendell. “I can say no more at present. Not all things are certain, but maybe the time will come when Hobbits will shape the fortunes of all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. 'Amad : Mother  
> Kh. Malkân : Half-man/Halfling  
> Si. Ada : Father


	28. A Last Goodbye

**28. A Last Goodbye**

Bilbo was miserable and there was no point in pretending otherwise. Even Legolas seemed to have run out of positivity and fell into brooding silence. Maybe Elves and Dwarves were not so very different after all. The hobbit pressed his lips together and ignored the growing ache inside his chest. The fate of Middle-earth and the life of a Dwarven king were much more important than his own selfish desires. Legolas eventually gestured to a small chamber that seemed to be hewn out of thick roots that climbed ever upwards to some far distance no simple Hobbit eyes could reach.

“You may stay in here for the present, Bilbo. It is a far cry from Imladris or a homely smial, but I hope it will serve well enough for now.”

“It will serve very well.” Bilbo replied politely. “Thank you. You have been very kind to me.”

“I wish there was another way.” Legolas carefully helped the hobbit across the threshold. The elf had a sudden impulse to pick Bilbo up and cuddle him close until all his heartache went away. It wasn’t so hard to see why Thorin had a consuming need to cosset and protect such a sweet little halfling. “Maybe there is. You often keep counsel with Mithrandir, do you not?” Bilbo nodded. Well. Counsel wasn’t really the right word. Sometimes it felt more like the wizard was determined to make up the rules as he went along and move the hobbit around Middle-earth like a pawn on a chess board. “Would he think this is the right path to take?”

“Probably not.” Bilbo mumbled, with a pang of guilt. Suddenly reminded of a splintered stone from distant dreams. Gandalf didn’t think the Shadowheart curse had anything to do with the Arkenstone. Irmo hinted it might have some part to play in the end but Bilbo couldn’t imagine how. As far as the hobbit knew, that jewel was still sitting in Erebor gathering dust. “He told me it was important to know who cast the spell. Irmo visited me in a dream, but now I know he had little to do with bringing Thorin back.”

“Then, maybe it wasn’t a dream.” Legolas seemed to perk up a bit. That was actually good news for once. Some Elves were granted cursory glimpses of a potential future. Legolas wondered if Hobbits possessed some innate ability to see their own end, but there didn’t seem to be much logical basis for linking psychic powers to pointed ears. "May I be honest, Bilbo?” Legolas let his fingertips graze the back of the hobbit’s hand.

“Of course.” Bilbo said in surprise, warming to a simple touch while he felt so helpless and alone. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“I think you hold him here.” Legolas managed a sympathetic smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That he came back for you. Abandoned the call of his fathers. I hate to say it, but maybe you should just let him go.”

“I can’t.” Bilbo whispered sadly. “Not now I know what it feels like to be in love.”

Legolas studied the hobbit closely. It would be cruel to snuff out his last chink of hope.

“Then, I count you blessed, Master Perian. I cannot say the same.”

“Maybe I should have stayed at home. Lived out a lonely life in The Shire.” Bilbo shrugged. “At least my heart would still be in one piece. It’s a dangerous business going out of your door.” The hobbit attempted a little smile of his own.

“So, you would have changed it, if you could?”

Bilbo paled when he thought about the alternative. Never knowing the intimate touch of thick fingers squirming inside him. Never hearing Thorin’s deep voice whisper Khuzdûl promises while it vibrated against his naked skin. His mouth curved into another poignant smile.

“Never.”

Bilbo had been a willing captive of the Mirkwood Elves for five days (give or take). It was almost impossible to measure the passage of time when even fading sunlight looked like moonbeams dancing on shiny leaves. The hobbit was allowed a small reach of freedom once every evening. The palace of Thranduil seemed suspended in perpetual dusk and Bilbo was now submerged in a shallow pool of melancholy sitting alone in the shadows by his tiny window. He suddenly felt a desperate craving for some pipeweed. _What I wouldn’t give for some Longbottom Leaf_. Bilbo thought aimlessly. Searching through the undergrowth to see if there was anything that might be safe to smoke without ripping his lungs to ribbons. When he looked back up, Bilbo spotted something that made his heart shudder to a stop. Already fragile emotions soon torn between absolute joy and horrified panic. The hobbit froze when he saw the unmistakable sway of black hair cascading over broad shoulders like a waterfall. Golden glow of sunset picking out the hint of silver tresses. Bilbo felt all the breath leave his body. Hands clenching helplessly at his sides while the king moved ever closer.

 _Thorin_.

“What are you doing?” Bilbo bit out, through gritted teeth. He could hardly take in enough air to stay conscious, but there was something infinitely beautiful in believing the dwarf he loved must have trekked through the dangerous wood for days just to find him. Thorin gave him a smile so warm, it felt like the sunlight finally managed to force its way through the many trees that closed them in. Bilbo watched his love dismount in stunned silence.

“Why must you keep running from me?” Thorin sighed against him. Holding Bilbo so tight, he could feel the thud of a heartbeat against him. “It breaks me every time.”

“Oh, Thorin.” Bilbo could almost hear his own heart pounding back. Returning to Erebor was impossible until their fates were decided. One way or another. "I begged you not to come here."

“Please, Bilbo. Please come back.” Thorin smothered Bilbo in a suffocating embrace. He opened his mouth to protest, but the king wasn’t finished. “Come back to me. I cannot spend the rest of my life knowing how much I lost.”

“Thorin Oakenshield.” The hobbit shook his head in despair. But looking into those blue eyes again, all Bilbo could feel was an overwhelming need to be kissed until his lips went numb. His mouth gave way to the very faintest of smiles. “You are positively _the_ most infuriating, stubborn-headed, suicidal dwarf I have ever known.” Bilbo sighed, setting free the unsurpassable adoration he hoped was reflected in his awed gaze. “But I love that you rode in on a white horse to rescue me. I do.” They both glanced awkwardly at the small pinto snuffling hopelessly at a patch of dead grass. “Well - a little round pony.” Bilbo conceded. “But that’s not the point.” The hobbit had to keep swatting wandering hands away. “Hey. Sticky paws off.” Bilbo chastised Thorin with about as much sincerity as he could muster. “I’m serious. _This_ is serious.”

“Hmm.” Thorin nuzzled a wet mouth against the tip of one ear, and Bilbo knew he was lost. “Serious. Yes, my love."

“It _is_.” Bilbo persisted, not sure why he was wasting valuable snogging time in a futile attempt to wriggle free. He soon gave up and melted into the demanding hold. “Oh, you’re impossible.” Bilbo willingly let roaming hands spread across his bum. “But thank you, Thorin. Thank you for trying to save me.”

Thorin took Bilbo’s hands and brought them up to his chest, kissing the back of each one in turn. Piercing eyes locked on his halfling the whole time. Thorin only broke the gaze at all when Bilbo trembled under his touch. Thorin wasn’t sure if it was fear, arousal, or something else entirely. The hobbit seemed struck by a sort of submissive fatalism, and the king suspected the sensual little gasps that escaped his lips were definitely deliberate. Bilbo started snuggling against Thorin, unable to subdue the desire burning inside him once he was surrounded by huge arms again. Thorin was just as desperate to feel the little hobbit pressed against him, trying hard to push out the possessive voice inside his head. _Mine_.

"Come. I will take you home."

"I can't." Bilbo sighed. "You shouldn't be here and we have nothing left to trade except me. It's too late, Thorin."

"Do not concern yourself with that. I have the stone in my pack." Even on the road, Thorin would not be parted from it and was surprisingly willing to give it up in exchange for Bilbo if he had to. It wasn't much of a stretch to figure out what the king carried with him.

“You have the Arkenstone? Here?” Bilbo felt unbelievably sick when he thought about the consequences of bringing such a precious gem so close to someone who might try to use it against them. He looked decidedly faint.

“Are you alright?” Thorin scrunched up one eye, snapping the hobbit back from a bleary haze that had settled inside him.

“Do I bloody look alright? You brought it here? Why?” Bilbo groaned. There were far too many questions to even attempt to string a coherent response together so Thorin slipped into default mode. Defensive as ever.

“Yes, I brought it. Do you think I would risk it falling into the hands of those cursed pixies?” Thorin spat out the words like they were acid on his tongue.

“So, you brought it right into the heart of an Elven kingdom instead? How does that make a lick of sense?”

“I did not know how long it would be before you decided to stop all this nonsense and return with me to the mountain.”

“Nonsense?” Bilbo gaped in disbelief. “Do you still not understand what you’ve done? You must leave until this is settled. You _must_ , Thorin.” Bilbo spared a nervous glance over one shoulder. “I will be alright here. Legolas has been looking after me.”

“Has he, indeed?” The king said slowly, fighting a twinge of jealousy. “He once told me he wanted to help you. That you deserved to be happy.”

“Really?” Bilbo blinked in surprise. “I wonder why. Legolas owes me no loyalty, but he cared for me anyway. You have no idea how lonely I was without you.”

“Then I owe him a great debt.” Thorin said, with genuine gratitude. Little green-eyed monster slowly crawling back under its rock. “Protecting my consort is an honourable charge. He shall be known in Erebor as Khuzdbâha, and I will not forget it.”

“Quite so. I suggest that you don’t.” The hobbit tutted at him. _By Mahâl, Bilbo was cute when he was mad_. Not that a hobbit would have the slightest clue what that word meant. His expression suddenly crumpled into so much sadness. “Oh, why did you come here, you insufferable - ” Whatever colourful response Bilbo decided on was lost in Thorin’s mouth when he dipped his head to steal a kiss. He finally pulled away and let out a sigh so deep, the hobbit caved at once. He still loved that stupid dwarf with every last inch of his body, but it was only a matter of time before they were forced apart again.

“Because I would do anything to bring you home.” Thorin effortlessly hacked away at Bilbo's icy resolve with a single touch. Before he could stop himself, Bilbo was reaching out. Grabbing the ends of both braids to drag the dwarf closer. Pushing their mouths together again until Thorin soon opened wide enough to let him in, fumbling for any part he could reach while they were squished up so tight against each other. Thorin kissed Bilbo again, long and hard. The hobbit heard himself moan while muffled hums of pleasure vibrated against his tongue. Thorin was soon tracing his lips along the length of Bilbo’s throat and the hobbit instinctively burrowed every last finger in the dark hair as the king sucked a livid mark into his skin. Thorin entwined their hands together and peppered the kisses higher. Suddenly licking inside Bilbo's mouth with so much passion, the hobbit was close to begging for the king to take him again. Longing to feel Thorin fill him up once more before all hope was gone forever. Physical touch the only way they could show each other love while time was filtering away. Abused and battered hearts too full of raw emotion to be set free. Bilbo was already panting and desperate when Thorin gathered him up and grappled him inside, throwing his little body on the bed before clambering on top of him.

“Tell me you are mine.” Thorin murmured against his lips, forcing himself to hold back despite the heat that was building inside him. Bilbo willingly gave himself over to the unexpected need to be dominated so completely. Thorin undressed him without another word, eyes never leaving Bilbo’s face while he waited. Wordless whimpers the only sound that fell from plump lips before Bilbo found himself pinned on his back. Thorin was already aroused from the kissing and impatiently rutted up against him. Impulsively holding the hobbit down with a rigid erection and forcing his legs wide when demanding hips thrust hard against growing curves. His entire body tensed, spine arching. Fit to burst with every painful memory Bilbo tried to hide away to keep the hopelessness buried deep. Thorin held him fast and forced his tongue into Bilbo’s mouth again just before the tip of a probing finger slinked inside him. The silky caress slid higher and Bilbo pushed against it, straining to gain more friction.

“I am, Thorin.” Bilbo was almost sobbing. Exhausted by the intensity of strange sensations he never experienced before. “I am yours.” It only served to fuel an already searing desire to be inside that sweet little body again, and it made the king reckless. He held Bilbo down, digging his fingertips into bare flesh and pushing inside him all the way down to the base. Slipping over damp skin and forcing Bilbo open. Suddenly hurtled into a dangerous and indescribable urge to breed the hobbit. Mark and claim Bilbo as his own. Inside and out. Bilbo pushed his hips up and Thorin let that pliant body draw him in. Thrusting into him so hard, Bilbo was reduced to a whimpering and helpless mess beneath him. It was so erotic, Thorin gasped in a tortured breath when a tingling burst of warning forced him to go slower. He moved his thick fingers between Bilbo’s thighs and massaged the sensitive skin until the hobbit was begging for release. Thorin grunted his way through every blissful invasion until he was right on the edge and collapsed on Bilbo’s stomach when the hobbit emptied himself into Thorin’s hand with a cry of pleasure. Thorin could feel a trembling pulse wrench his own release from him and they stayed pressed together for a long time.

Bilbo dropped asleep that night with his head resting on Thorin’s chest. Some small measure of peace in a dark world that stopped moving altogether as a gentle touch brushed against one shoulder. The hobbit suddenly felt like he was falling into a fathomless abyss. Every muscle in his stomach pulled tight when a soft voice cut through his dreams like a dagger.

“Come, Bilbo.” Legolas whispered, shaking him awake. “It is time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Si. Perian : Halfling  
> Kh. Khuzdbâha : Dwarf-friend


	29. Serpent

**29\. Serpent**

Bilbo slowly blinked both sleepy eyes open, staring up at Legolas with his sweet face lined in confusion.

“Time?” He murmured in a whisper. “For what?”

“To repay the debt.” Legolas said quietly, ignoring the fact his friend was inexplicably draped over a dwarf. Thorin stirred bedside him, desperately reaching out to pull the hobbit close. Bilbo slinked his arm free and gently folded Thorin’s hands together across his chest.

“Wait.”

“No, Thorin. Stay here.” Bilbo stroked an affectionate touch along the wide fingers. “I must go with Legolas.”

Thorin longed to gather the hobbit up in his arms, but guilt wracked an already tormented conscience. Without the promise he made in death, he knew Bilbo would be safely holed away in Bag End. Mourning the Dwarven king he loved, but far from danger.

“You cannot ask me to stand idle when my own weakness has brought us to this.”

“You live.” Bilbo savoured one last moment to press his lips against Thorin’s cheek. “That’s all that ever mattered. There is nothing that could stop me from returning to your arms.”

“I was a fool for ever letting you leave them.” Thorin wrapped himself around the tiny body and buried his nose in Bilbo’s curls. “Forgive me, amrâlimê.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Bilbo clung to Thorin’s hair. Sentimental tears making his eyes shine bright in the early morning light.

“There is much.” Thorin kissed the top of Bilbo’s head. More memories had slowly trickled back since escaping from the edge of eternal sleep. “I should have told you long ago of the spell you cast upon my heart.” The dwarf touched Bilbo’s face, making sure his honest gaze was met. “Too afraid to admit my mind was set on something more precious than gold or victory. If I had known my affection would be returned, then maybe I would not have been so reckless in my desire for vengeance.”

“You did what you thought was right for your people, Thorin. There is no shame in giving your life for another.” Bilbo felt his stomach sink, suspecting he was uncomfortably close to doing that very thing himself.

“You give me too much credit. I always knew one day you would want to return to your home. A home I now fear you will never see again.” Thorin held back his emotions on the road because he knew the hobbit would want to see The Shire again when the quest was fulfilled. “It was the one thing I feared most, my love. That I would one day lose you.”

“Then what would you have me do, Thorin?”

“I would have you never leave my side again. Without you, there is no reason to fight the shadow that chills my heart. I begin to feel it, Bilbo. The darkness inside me.”

Those words only sealed Bilbo’s determination to honour a fateful promise. Terrified the king would soon fall prey to whatever wickedness had crept inside his soul if he stalled much longer.

“I must leave it for now. But there is always a reason to go on.”

Bilbo caressed the stubble that adorned the dwarf’s cheek when Thorin covered the little hand with his own.

“I beg you not to sacrifice anything more. You will not give your life for me.”

“I would give a thousand if I had them.”

“Bilbo - ”

They were suddenly interrupted by one of the other Wood-elves who followed Legolas down the passage. Not being very successful in trying to hide his sense of urgency.

“Come, perian. You must come now.”

Legolas stayed the guard with a sweep of his noble hand. Hoping he might one day experience the depth of love he saw reflected in the hobbit’s teary eyes.

“Give them a moment, for pity’s sake.”

“Forgive me, your highness, but the king demands the halfling join him without delay. There is a messenger who will not wait.”

Thorin panicked, frantically clutching for Bilbo when he lifted himself from the bed. His tiny wrist seemed far too small and empty.

“Please, Bilbo.” Thorin tried in desperation. “If you must go, then wear my token openly once more. I only meant to keep it safe until I could return it to you.” The hobbit cautiously reached out to take the golden bangle the king had wrenched from his own arm and locked it back around his ankle. “But do not mistake my intentions. I will take this as a promise you will wed with me when I see you again.” Bilbo gave the dwarf a mute nod, his voice snatched away by hopelessness. Not sure he would be able to keep it.

News soon reached Elrond that Thorin had taken a pony and set out on a mission to find the hobbit before he could do anything they would all regret. Gandalf was seated on one of the many carven benches that lined the terrace and radiating enough agonizing silence to rival even Thorin.

“What troubles you, my friend?” Elrond sat down beside the wizard. “I see you carry a heavy burden. Do you fear for the halfling?”

“I do. But I also fear treachery, my lord. Treachery of our enemy, Sauron the deceiver. Faithless and accursed. It would be of no surprise to learn it is his hand that moves to destroy Bilbo’s happiness and fill Thorin’s heart with shadow until his spirit finally gives in.”

“That is not very comforting, Mithrandir.” Elrond’s face was drawn with concern. He had decreed no one should ever speak that name in Rivendell and was still sore the dwarf he was supposed to be watching over had evaded the keen eyes of his scouts and headed off to Mirkwood before anyone could stop him. “Do you truly believe your ancient enemy and the evil that dwells in Dol Guldur are one and the same?”

“Indeed, I do greatly fear it.”

“Forgive me, but why would that abomination care about the fate of a little hobbit or try to prevent his coupling with Thorin?”

Gandalf suddenly seemed pulled from deeper thoughts, completely missing the point.

“Speaking of Thorin. Where is that wretched dwarf? I would give him counsel.”

“Gone.” Elrond shook his head despondently. “It seems nothing would distract him from slipping away unnoticed. Bofur has been a wonderful escort, but most of his attention is now secured by a certain elf.” Gandalf almost smiled at the thought of Lindir being pursued by a randy miner. “I don’t think Thorin will risk the wrath of Thranduil if young Bilbo is now held captive.”

“Perhaps not. But it would be unwise to taunt a wounded beast while it has one fang left, I think.” Gandalf warned. “Do not underestimate what Thorin is capable of if he is cornered.”

Bilbo had been spirited away at a pace even Thorin struggled to match while the drowse of sleep still hung on him. Stumbling blindly down the twisted pathways until he eventually caught them up. Tumbling into the main chamber just as Bilbo was being presented to the Elvenking. Several guards were barely enough to hold him back. Thorin had to be physically restrained while he watched the hobbit ascend the wooden steps to the royal dais. Thranduil regarded the dwarf with cold indifference in his sharp eyes.

"I do not know what ill fate has brought you to my halls a second time. But if you must taint this sacred place with your presence, then at least have the decency to do so in silence.”

Thorin struggled against the iron grip around both arms, but all the fight had left his eyes. A silent witness was the last thing he intended to be.

“Was it not enough that you turned away when we needed help? Left my people crawling in the dust when the dragon came. Abandoned those you would once call friend. Thranduil, great king.” Legolas detected a distinct hint of sarcasm. “You spit grievous insult on all my people and now you want to rip the very heart from me.”

Thranduil still sat unmoved, like a statue of sculpted ice. He was not without sympathy for the plight of a Dwarf king in love, but he would not show weakness. Nor fail to honour a debt made to one who could smite him down for disobedience in a heartbeat.

“All memory fades with time. The halfling came here of his own will, remember that.”

“Not all memory.” Thorin stared desperately at the hobbit, his eyes devoid of hope. “Those thoughts and snatches of my life I have lost to this curse may never return, but I could never forget my Bilbo. Not while this heart you strive to break still beats. And if you take him from me, know this. I will be avenged.”

Thranduil was suddenly on his feet. Swift as a stag leaping from dark shadows to bask in the glow of torchlight.

“You misunderstand my intent.” The Elvenking was leaning too close, hushed words just a breath in Thorin’s ear. “This I will share with you, Naugrim. One king to another. It is not my wish to take him from you. I must follow the will of The Creator. There is no honour in failure.”

Thorin’s eyes burned with an amber light, flickering like fire in the dim chamber.

“Do not speak to me of honour, when you have none!”

Thranduil shrank away in disgust. Refusing to let a dwarf vilify such a pure lineage in his own kingdom.

“This goes beyond such things. Do you really think I care for the fate of an inconsequential speck of life? This is about doing what is needed to restore the divine balance you have shamelessly destroyed. I do not expect you to understand the will of the Valar. Maybe you would appreciate the reach of my arm if you stood but a little higher from the ground.”

Bilbo coughed and gave Thranduil a particularly hard stare. Quite honestly he had endured more than enough narcissistic pissing contests to see him through the rest of his days.

“Excuse me.” Bilbo said pointedly. “This speck would value a little consideration under the circumstances. I have the right to make my own choices.”

“Yes, halfling. You do.” The Elvenking seemed to think Bilbo might be the only one who could manage to break through such a thick skull and extract some measure of wisdom from it. “Perhaps your actions will convince this misguided dwarf that resistance merely stalled the inevitable.” Thorin searched Bilbo’s eyes for some spark of desire for them to see this come to an end together. There was none. The hobbit said nothing for a long time, mindlessly fiddling with the hem of his jacket. He finally turned to the elf with a sigh.

“I will do as you command. Words are of no more use here. I want Thorin to live.”

“Very well, then.” Thranduil graciously agreed, relieved he would be able to rid himself of the responsibility once and for all. “If you are resolved in this, you must accompany my sentry to meet the one who has come to collect you.”

Bilbo averted his eyes to avoid the pain he imagined staring back at him. Letting one of the elves guide him away with the haunting echo of Thorin’s pleas fading out behind him like a torturous lament. Bilbo was herded to the palace gate with a little more enthusiasm than he would have liked, broken roots scoring into his feet. He soon felt the faint warmth of sunlight touch his face again, forcing his eyes to focus on the waiting figure at the edge of the glade. He could just make out the shape of a black horse, partially obscured by overhanging trees and hidden by a veil of shadow. The hobbit felt a shiver snake all the way down to his toes. A cold warning that made his spine tingle. Bilbo turned to thank the elf for Thranduil’s hospitality, but to his horror he found himself all alone again.

The cloaked figure dismounted without a sound and moved towards him. Bilbo knew an immortal spirit when he saw one, but this was not the one he expected.

“You are not Irmo.”

“No. I am not.” The words spilled out from beneath a hooded shroud in a voice that dripped like syrup laced with cyanide. “But I could take his form, if it suited my intent.” This he had done when Thorin cried out for his maker to bring him back. The one who answered his call had a much more sinister purpose.

“Why would you want to do that?” Bilbo asked, all wide eyes and innocence. The voice did not reply, but Bilbo could have sworn he saw the burning eyes twinkle with amusement. “Will Thorin be saved if I go with you? Can you free him of the magic Gandalf told me about?”

“Gandalf the Grey.” The voice hissed, like Bilbo had ground some salt into a raw nerve. “A name Olórin makes do with. But I will lift the curse from your miserable dwarf when I have what I want from you. A promise is a promise, is it not?”

Bilbo wondered if the question was another test and chose his next words carefully.

“Yes, and one that should be respected by anyone of honour.” The hobbit suddenly thought about Fíli and Kíli. “And what of Thorin’s heirs? Will they also be spared?”

“For now. Oakenshield saved the line of Durin with his last breath. The most present one, at least.” There were enough cryptic undertones there to make Bilbo pause for a moment. This was not the ending the enemy expected. Once set on erasing the threat of a child that would one day grow to stand against him. Now dark visions plagued him with a strange new destiny he did not intend. The spirit slipped a hand into Bilbo’s to lead him away. There was no warmth in the cold, stiff fingers that gripped him tight. “Fear not. A bargain made in death must be honoured and the debt will be repaid in full. You are the love of the Dwarf king, halfling. But what you carry would be treasured in equal measure, I think. Something I will take from you when the time comes.”

Bilbo felt another chill warning creep into his heart. All he could think of was his golden ring. Surely no one with any sense would risk abducting the Hobbit of Erebor for a trinket so small and insignificant.

“I don’t understand.”

“No.” The spirit replied, sneer giving way to a dark smile. “But no matter. The seed has already been sown and I would not risk you succumbing to despair while you are in such delicate condition. Come, we travel South.”

Bilbo felt himself hauled up onto the back of the horse before he had chance to ask for explanations. Soon pinned between a cold body and a tangled mane. Holding on to the coarse hair to stop himself from sliding to the ground. The master of shadows wound both arms around Bilbo, gaunt fingers resting heavy on his belly. Now he knew why that Dwarven runt felt so protective of this pitiful little creature. Remembering visions of a long-forgotten day when one of the ancient Maiar was drawn to a fading king as he lay dying on a casket made of ice. A promise of forever whispered through a serpent’s smile. Sauron did not sense the same single heartbeat pulse inside the halfling. This time there were two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Si. Perian : Halfling  
> Si. Naugrim : Stunted people/Elven insult for Dwarves  
> Qu. Olórin : Of dreams or visions/Elvish name for Gandalf in Valinor


	30. Pathways

**30\. Pathways**

“Hurry up, Kí.” Fíli glared at his brother over one shoulder like Dís had lumbered him with a disobedient puppy. The boys set off up the steep mountain slopes just before dawn to try and satisfy Thorin’s request, with no hope for an honourable return to Erebor until they had enough Kingsfoil to break a well-built pony.

“What are we even looking for?” Kíli grumbled, stumbling over the unforgiving landscape.

“That plant Uncle wanted. Some elf said it was important.”

“Elves.” Kíli bit out. So determined to spit over the heights at the mere mention of them, he suddenly felt himself sliding backwards. Crying out in alarm while he scrambled for something to hang on to. The only thing he managed to grab in his panic were the flaxen braids that framed his brother’s mouth. Nearly dragging them both over the edge in the process.

“Mahâl’s balls.” Fíli shoved him to safety and sat down with a bump. Contemplating the disadvantages of standing on a dangerous precipice with Kíli inside a fifty-mile radius. They were both panting heavily to try and calm their racing hearts. “You’ll be the death of me, you little shit.”

“Sorry.” Kíli looked up at his brother through strands of messy hair. “I thought you weren’t afraid of death.” He said slowly, low and deliberate. “I know this sounds stupid, but I have these dreams sometimes. Like I know what it’s like to walk in the afterlife.”

“Touch my beard again and you can find out.”

“I’m serious, Nadad. Don’t you ever wonder how we survived that last battle? Uncle Thorin, too. There is something very unnatural about it.” Fíli took in a deep breath. Also plagued by visions of crimson blood and shattered bone every night when he closed his eyes in sleep. It was a sobering thought.

“Do you really believe we could be cursed? The wizard seems to think Uncle is, but I don’t really understand how.”

“I don’t know.” Kíli knew his brother was asking the wrong dwarf for an insight into Thorin’s subconscious. “You’ve always been more like him than me. You even have the same ridiculous nose.”

“Jealous?” Fíli laughed quietly, grateful for a more earthly distraction. Slipping into Khuzdûl when he muttered something under his breath to put a decisive end to such a horrible conversation. Those words had hit a little too close to home. “Me asnân tada Mahâl duhû kansu tah.”

Kíli sniffed into a grubby sleeve and pretended not to care.

“What does Uncle want with that stupid stuff anyway? Sending us all the way back here to pick weeds.”

“He wouldn’t have sent us back unless it was important, Kí. And you can bet your sweet arse it’s got something to do with Bilbo.”

Dís had been relentless in her quest for information about the mysterious malkân who had captured her brother’s heart. The boys had been careful to leave out anything about ancient curses. Their mother was as fierce as they get when it came to protecting family and already secretly decided she would be making the return trip to the Lonely Mountain with Fíli and Kíli. Give this Bilbo Baggins the Durin strip-down to make sure he was acceptable consort material before giving her blessing to such a union.

“Why Bilbo?”

“Because it’s always about Bilbo.” Fíli smiled to himself. He was such a sweet little thing. Fíli wouldn’t have minded a shot of his own at winning Bilbo’s affections if Thorin wasn’t so smitten with him. “I’m going to try and persuade 'Amad to come back to Erebor with us.”

The two boys brushed themselves off and took to the path again, picking their way over treacherous stones. Searching eyes scanning the high scrubland for any sign of the tiny white flower.

“I don’t suppose you’ll have to try very hard. You know that poor hobbit will be in for a painful interrogation.”

Fíli shuddered at the thought.

“Shut up and keep looking.”

Bilbo shivered with cold despite a muggy breeze whistling through his hair while he sped beneath the barren trees. Steadily thinning out as they approached the southern edge of Mirkwood. A day without stopping (even for water or sleep) was taking a heavy toll on the hobbit. The black mount seemed to possess supernatural speed, crashing through fallen branches like they were matchsticks cast to the wind.

Just when he thought he couldn’t possibly hold on much longer, Bilbo could see a vast desert plain on the far horizon when his gaze hovered above the tree line. Miserably abandoning the thought of letting fresh air caress his face while they were still surrounded on all sides by dense forest.

“Could we please rest soon?” Bilbo imagined second breakfast would have come back up hours ago if Thranduil had summoned the decency to provide it. “Please, sir.” The hobbit tried again, hoping a sprinkling of impeccable manners might sway a rigid purpose. “I’ve been feeling so sick lately and everything aches.” Sauron could feel Bilbo suddenly lurch in his arms. He knew carrying a babe did all sorts of weird things to a mortal body, but he needed to reach the safety of his fortress before he had a vigilante Dwarf king to deal with.

“No.”

“Just for a moment.” Bilbo pleaded. “Unless you want me to redecorate your horse.” Sauron reluctantly reigned it to a stop. Consoling himself with the promise of darker things to come. How naïve that scrap was. Nothing more than a child in his eyes. “Thank you.” Bilbo mumbled, almost sliding to the ground with relief.

“Do not think to make any more demands of me. I will only tolerate your existence while you prove useful. I advise you not to test my patience again, stripling.” Bilbo just nodded vigorously. Soft curls falling around his flushed face. He would have to tread carefully until he discovered what this spirit intended to do with him in the lonely days that would surely follow. Bilbo was still reeling from the gallop and all he wanted to do was shut his eyes for a moment, but that bloody Took side of him just had to go and ask.

“Why _did_  you need to take me? I have done you no wrong.” He saw the jutting shoulders twitch when the spirit hesitated a little too long. Quickly gathering his composure while he adjusted the saddle and tightened the swinging bridle.

“It is not you I fear, halfling.” Bilbo didn’t think he was meant to hear it. “Besides. May as well be tagged for a sheep as for a lamb.” Bilbo kept his own thoughts inside his head. _What a strange analogy_. The hobbit knew there was something very off about his captor but what choice did he have?

“Do you have a name?”

“Of course I have a name.” The spirit tutted at him.

“May I know it?” Bilbo persisted. Hobbits have always been unwaveringly resistant to bad manners. His companion seemed reluctant to share much information.

“Well. I did give Thorin Oakenshield back to you.” The halfling might have picked up a bit of common Elvish during his travels, but to assume he was fluent in Quenya was a bit of a stretch. “So, you may call me Annatar.” Sauron smiled to himself. The only one who appreciated the dark humour in using that name again. “I believe it means Lord of Gifts.”

“If you demand something in return, then it is not a gift.” Bilbo was suddenly reminded of a day long ago when he was sitting at the edge of the wood with Legolas, bathed in a wash of golden sunshine.

“You are a funny little thing.” Maybe it was a compliment and maybe not. Bilbo imagined someone like that could wear whatever face he wanted you to see. He slowly turned to the hobbit and finally slipped his hood free, letting Bilbo really see him for the first time. He wasn’t unpleasant to look at as such, but there was something wicked hidden behind the fair features. Annatar had cheekbones with sharp contours and was so abnormally pale it gave him an almost ethereal quality that reminded Bilbo of an Elf. Sleek hair streamed down his back to frame a strange beauty. Concealing a beast in the empty space that once held a heart. Eyes like two carved cherry opals. Deep enough to hypnotise your very soul. Lure you in like a venomous snake just before it sank both fangs into your throat.

“I don’t suppose you ever met a hobbit before.” Bilbo continued politely, ignoring the sick feeling of dread steadily rising inside him. Determined to drag out some semblance of civilized conversation if it killed him. Being addressed as nothing but halfling was wearing a bit thin.

“No. But I have seen them in visions.” The spirit offered, after a long pause. Silently replaying familiar nightmares in a twisted mind. Fragments of a distant future where his tower would fall to small hands that moved to change the fate of an entire world. Sauron would not let it happen. Clinging on to the power he had scraped to regain since his defeat after the Last Alliance. So irritated by the memory of his failure, he suddenly picked Bilbo up and grappled the stunned hobbit back on to the horse. “Enough questions, halfling.” Annatar snapped. Well. _That didn’t take long for his mask to slip_. Bilbo thought cynically. Getting more anxious with every pounding step that would bring them closer to Dol Guldur. It was several hours before they stopped again.

Bilbo blinked while his eyes adjusted to the gathering dusk. He didn’t think it was possible for anything to be more sunless than the depths of Mirkwood but there it was. A decaying fortress dominating the sky with black windows like hollow eyes that studied him approach. Silent sentinels guarding a hill of dark sorcery. Nothing is ever evil in the beginning. Even Sauron was not so. But the casualty of more than two thousand years of abandonment was evident on every disintegrating brick.

Bilbo swallowed down a mouthful of fear when he eventually dismounted. Gazing up in mute horror and trying to ignore how sick he still felt. Putting the unrelenting nausea down to all the clattering about he had done recently. Bilbo knew his stomach had never quite recovered since that insane trip with Irmo. But here was a new misery. How his hips ached from being straddled over such a huge beast for so many miles without respite. Bilbo settled one hand in the dip of his back. Arching into a curve in a valiant attempt to straighten out his spine. Annatar led him to the gate where it was swinging limply from a rusty hinge. It almost looked like he was trying to smile.

“Welcome home.”

Elrond soon found himself playing host to a handful of Wood-elves dispatched by Thranduil after Bilbo was taken. Motivated more by the desire to gloat than actually providing any useful information. Thranduil’s emissary was instructed to share a few details of the exchange so the Elves of Imladris would understand the king had kept his end of the bargain. Which of the immortal spirits had been sent to collect Bilbo wasn’t really made clear but some of the scouts had seen a large black steed travelling towards the southern borders. Gandalf instinctively guessed they were headed for the abandoned stronghold he had the misfortune to visit once before. Struggling to subdue his concern for the safety of a little hobbit who had no idea how much peril he was in. Elrond thanked the elves and turned to the wizard.

“We must intervene, my friend. Is there nothing the Istari can do?”

“Even we can’t oppose divine requests, Master Peredhel.”

“Can’t?” Elrond asked sceptically. “You mean, won’t.”

“Enough providence has been changed already.” Gandalf said sharply. A Maia could only interfere so much with the will of Eru before you really pissed him off. His expression gently softened when he thought about Bilbo again. “We do not know for certain who took him. I dare not risk an open attack on Dol Guldur, or even send a simple message.”

“Why not? We could let Bilbo know he has not been forgotten.”

“Because it could be intercepted.” Gandalf answered without hesitation. “The enemy has many spies, my Lord. But if it was the Necromancer, I will not abandon his captive to torment and death. For whatever reason he wants the hobbit, rest assured it is not out the goodness of his heart. If indeed he ever had one.”

“What shall we do, then? Could we send word to Thorin?”

Gandalf shook his head.

“No. Thorin Oakenshield is lost to us for the present. I have no doubt he will make his way back here when he realises he needs our help. I trust Legolas to watch out for him. One of the elves let it slip that the prince has grown rather fond of him.”

Elrond laughed softly. Surprised, but more than a little pleased that the Dwarf king had finally won over one of his own.

“Good. That is good. Thorin will need all the aid he can get if you are right.” Elrond suddenly looked serious. Ashamed at how careless they had been in embracing blind faith that the great shadow had truly been destroyed all those years ago. “Curse him and all his creations. It pains me, Mithrandir. To know we should not have grown so complacent these last few millennia.”

“There is nothing to be done about that now, and in someone I still have hope.” Gandalf replied. “Aulë, the Smith. The Lord of Earth and all that is underneath it still answers to a higher power. A disloyal servant will have consequences for actions taken against a king of his Dwarves. Sooner rather than later, I hope.”

Bilbo crept along the walls with his back pressed against cold stone as Annatar led him up a winding staircase choked with dead vines. Littered with impassable piles of crumbling rocks that blocked off any route of escape. The spirit sensed the hobbit’s fear when it settled on his tongue like divine nectar. _So the bearer of Durin’s line was_ _afraid, was he?_ _Good_. _As it should be_.

“Mind your step, halfling.” Sauron baited him. “I do not wish to clean up the mess you would make when you hit the ground.” Bilbo clung tighter to the emaciated hand despite himself. They eventually reached an isolated room that may as well be called a cell for all the comfort it would provide. The only warmth to cheer him at all emanated from thick tallow candles set beneath the window. Casting feeble shadows on the grey stone as they flickered in a cold breeze. Bilbo closed his eyes, tears suddenly leaking from their corners. Desperately hoping that his sacrifice would free his beloved Thorin from the shadow that wanted to claim his heart. “Dreaming about your little king?” Bilbo wasn’t at all comfortable with how disturbingly perceptive Annatar seemed to be. “No doubt he would shower you with all the riches under the mountain if you ever go back.”

Bilbo glanced up again for a moment, shy and insecure.

“Can you guarantee I will go back?”

Annatar was clever. He would give the halfling enough hope to stay compliant until he got what he wanted in return. But he was also cruel. A shadow of sleepless malice. He couldn’t resist the temptation to make Bilbo cry again.

“No.”

“I see.” The hobbit whispered quietly, heavy droplets falling from his eyes like the dark spirit could make them well up by his will alone. Bilbo fell silent. Not really a lot he could say to that. The shadow purred by his side, pretending to take pity on a tiny broken heart.

“You may rest here tonight. But in the morning, little one.” Annatar slowly tilted Bilbo’s chin up with one scrawny finger until the hobbit had no choice but to meet the penetrating eyes that seemed to look right inside him. “You and I must talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. Nadad : Brother  
> Kh. Me asnân tada Mahâl duhû kansu tah : You are proof that Mahal has a sense of humour  
> Kh. Malkân : Half-man/Halfling  
> Kh. 'Amad : Mother  
> Qu. Annatar : Lord of gifts


	31. Broken Souls

**31\. Broken Souls**

Bilbo lost count of how many damn times he tossed and turned in the night, but he couldn’t sleep. Wondering how in Yavanna’s name he was supposed to get comfortable on a stone floor with a gale blustering through a gap that was once a window. Not to mention the memory of those burning eyes and the subtle stirrings of life inside him. Morning light filtered in to pierce the many shadows that surrounded his little body where it was curled up in one corner. The hobbit sat up when he heard the lock click. Making a half-hearted attempt to look mildly presentable.

The malevolent presence flowed inside and Bilbo was cross with himself for almost being pleased to see him. Long hours spent in darkness with nothing but his thoughts for company only fed the loneliness. Sauron was blind to all else but the threat of a prophecy that tortured isolated thoughts. A halfling would one day be his downfall. Maybe not this one, but one just like him. Distracted purpose the only reason he couldn’t sense the ring he once crafted sitting harmlessly in Bilbo’s pocket. Sauron was just a fading remnant of the power he once possessed, but he wanted the hobbit to stay close if that Casar spawn in his belly was the one fated to defeat him. He could use his captive to learn their secrets. Discover every weakness. Bilbo thought better of smiling and forced a little cough when he settled on both knees.

“Good morning. I really hate to be a bother, but you did say we should talk and I’m rather inclined to agree.”

“Are you, now?”

“Yes. Actually, I wanted to ask you about lifting the curse from Thorin. He was only trying to save his line, and you promised.” A little hobbit hand subconsciously dropped down to rest on his stomach. Sauron glanced at him. “Please.” Bilbo added quietly, not ashamed to beg.

“Do not speak to me of Thorin Oakenshield. I know all too well the legacy of Durin’s Folk. Petulant children in the scale of a life such as mine. Flawed creations.”

“Then you have been misinformed.” Bilbo replied defiantly. Still defending Thorin to the last. “They are an honourable race. Dwarves vow death before dishonour. Something to be lived by, if you want my opinion.”

“I don’t.”

The sting of rejection had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Aulë soon cast him aside when his golden gaze turned to a greater power. Sauron spent many ages nursing his hatred since being consigned to the shadows.

“I don’t suppose you would understand.” Bilbo sighed. “Just one of the many reasons why I love him so much.”

“Love.” Annatar sneered. “Love is not everything.”

Bilbo was startled by the depth of unexpected sadness locked away behind the searching eyes that finally met his own.

“Oh, but it _is_. It is.”

Annatar felt something twist inside him. So long since he had embraced that emotion. How he loved Aulë in those first ages after creation. The master he held in awe of his divine crafts. The one who helped him perfect his own skills in forging. Sauron faltered when another memory sneaked past his defences.

 _Then there was Melkor_.

Sauron possessed a heart once. Before he gave it away to someone else when the world was still young and full of light. In the many centuries that passed in faithful service, Sauron never yearned for power of his own. Content to just surrender himself to a blissful seduction by the master he adored. Under his command, Sauron mastered the art of shapeshifting and was granted a place of honour at his side. Hoping his mentor loved him unconditionally in return. He would never know for sure now Melkor was lost forever to the Void. The dying fire behind his gaze flickered for a second. Amber eyes were a glaring red flag if ever a hobbit saw one, but the enduring kindness in his heart made Bilbo reach out to touch him.

“Are you alright?” He stroked the cold hand with a sweet concern Annatar hadn’t known since his days in the Blessed Realm of Valinor. Then it was gone, and the spark returned to his eyes. Sauron never intended to fall under the spell of Melkor so completely. Still tormented by the bittersweet memory of how close they had become in the intimate pursuit of dark desires. So many secrets he had kept from the Valar. Secrets he still refused to share. Sauron had spent the Second Age just wandering. Lonely and lost without Melkor to hold him. Whispering eternal promises and telling him he was beautiful.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” The silence he left behind was filled only by a rush of air when Sauron pulled away. Bilbo let his own hand fall. Something haunted that spirit. Bilbo had seen the same damage in his reflection every day when he was mourning Thorin. The profound sorrow of a broken soul.

Kíli was apparently on the verge of starving to death by the time they harvested enough Kingsfoil to burst a saddle-bag. Fíli had eventually discovered a few scattered patches clinging to the highest slopes by fragile roots. Snowy petals reaching up to touch the sun. By the time they got down safely and back to Thorin’s Halls, Dís was already waiting for them in the courtyard. She just couldn’t seem to shake a strange feeling of dread since they returned home that second time. They both seemed so lost. So broken. Fíli was much worse, but he hid it better. She hardly recognised the sons who left on a quest months before with a twinkle in their eyes. Suppressed memories of nothing but cold, dark emptiness had consumed their injured souls since then. Call it a mother’s instinct, but Dís felt they had somehow cheated death once already. She was scared to ever let them out of her sight again, but the boys were itching to head back to Erebor and stockpile a few awesome points from Thorin when they arrived in Rivendell with salvation. Kíli was actually quite proud of himself.

“Well, if that lot doesn’t shift a curse, nothing will.”

“Kíli.” His brother stuttered in dismay. Kíli mumbled a profanity when he realised what had dropped out his mouth. “Remind me again why I didn’t just leave you on top of that mountain.”

“Inside with you, raklûn.” Dís ruffled Kíli’s hair and shooed them both up the steps. He beamed up at her with a wide grin that almost split his face apart. Fíli breathed out a sigh of relief. She must have missed it. “You shouldn’t tease him.”

“And you shouldn’t enable.” Dís and Fíli smiled at each other with silent understanding. “You can’t always be there to watch over him.” He remembered how close they came to never making it back at all. “Well.” Fíli patted the swollen pack slung over his shoulder to avoid the sharp blue eyes he knew were locked on him. “We need to get this to Uncle Thorin and make sure Bilbo is safe.”

“You seem to be very concerned about that hobbit.” Dís touched his hand, purposeful and soft. “Anyone would think it was you who wanted to keep Bilbo in Erebor.”

“No.” Fíli blushed, ducking his head when his mother tried to catch his gaze again. “I just want Uncle to be happy. Mahâl knows, he’s earned it." The dwarf added, not sure why that should make him ache so much inside. “We can take Bilbo back to the Lonely Mountain if he got all healed up. I suppose they must still be in Rivendell. Might be best if we stop there on the way back, anyway.” Fíli hesitated. “You _are_ coming back with us, aren’t you, 'Amad?”

“I do have some royal duties to attend to while Thorin is away.” Dís paused for a moment. “But I can never hide anything from you, can I?”

Fíli gently kissed his mother’s cheek.

“I knew you couldn't resist. There’s an elf there who needs some of this plant to help save Thorin.”

“Save him from what?” Dís suddenly panicked. So there _was_ another reason why those two had come crawling back so soon. “Why does Thorin need help? Is he sick?”

“No, 'Amad. Not sick, exactly.”

“Fíli - ” Dís warned. Fíli quickly placated her and cursed the size of his iron-capped boots.

“You better sit down.”

Elrond hid his growing concern from all but Gandalf. Both were deeply troubled by not knowing what the enemy could possibly want with Bilbo. Elrond was the only one who shared the same insight as Annatar. He had also seen life and death as two sides of the same coin. Echoes in time of a future no one could predict with any certainty. Olórin served Manwë and Varda before he came to Middle-earth as Gandalf. Elrond knew it was a long shot, but they might help if one of the Istari asked nicely.

“You told me you still have faith in the Smith. Could you convince any of the Ainur to help vanquish the Necromancer before he gains enough strength to openly challenge us?”

“Perhaps. But most have long since abandoned Sauron to his fate.” The wizard stared out mournfully across the green valley. “He had so much potential before he fell to darkness. A spirit of pure light.” Gandalf continued, sentimental memories misting his vision. “He was blessed with a grace and beauty beyond compare, and in his eyes was fire. He soon drew the attention of Melkor. But all he wanted was to corrupt and take for his own. Maybe even right from the beginning.”

“Mithrandir.” Elrond was at a loss to understand how anyone could dig out a scrap of pity for Sauron. “You have never spoken like this before.”

“No. But Mairon was great once. Sometimes I let myself forget that.” Gandalf suddenly seemed to come back to himself. “Forgive an old man his wanderings. Enough talk of such dark history. We should decide what must be done to help our Master Baggins. I have learned that Thorin is on his way back here as we speak. One of the Wood-elves just informed me young Legolas agreed to deliver him personally.”

“He must have grown fond of him indeed, if the prince is prepared to bear a dwarf on the back of his steed.”

“With much cursing, I don’t doubt.” Gandalf laughed. Lifting a shadow that had crossed his face when they spoke of the enemy. “But it will save us a good few days of waiting for him to return.”

“And then?” Elrond pressed him. “I cannot forsake Bilbo. So much depends on him.”

“Nor I, my Lord. But I believe you have not told me all. I know the visions do not always turn out quite the way you expect, so I understand your desire to keep them to yourself.”

“If you understand it, then be content.” Elrond smiled. “I will only say that Bilbo will need Thorin more than ever in the days to come.”

His captor seemed much better when he returned with a bowl of something Bilbo presumed was food and set it in front of him. He must have missed five meals at least on the journey through Mirkwood. He stopped counting after four. But breakfast was still breakfast, and no Hobbit worth his salt would ever refuse a meal. He attempted a bite and swallowed it down with a bit of difficulty. They still hadn’t really talked about the terms of his imprisonment, and Bilbo was stubborn as they come when principles were involved.

“I’m sorry if I upset you earlier.”

Sauron huffed at him. Painful memories safely stashed away in their little box again.

“Do not give yourself so much credit, halfling.”

_So, we were back to that, were we?_

“I wasn’t. I just know heartache when I see it.”

The spirit moved so swiftly, Bilbo gasped in a shallow breath of surprise.

“What are you, really? Do you have some great magic hidden away inside that battered jacket?” Annatar suddenly pulled at the fraying edges to drag the hobbit in. Bilbo felt his skin burn on the stone. The shadow was so close to the Ring, it almost called out to him. Ever seeking to return to its master. Bilbo bit his lip and tried to ignore the sting.

“No.” Bilbo rubbed at his knees. “Just a pair of eyes and a lot of time sitting on my step while I watch the world go by. You can learn a great deal from both, and my name is Bilbo.”

“I care not what they call you, snippet.” Sauron dismissed him. “And you are satisfied with so simple a life? Do you never yearn for power?”

Bilbo almost laughed.

“What would I do with a useless thing like that? Stick it on my mantel and curse it every time I had an extra bit of junk to dust. No, thank you.”

“What a strange creature you are.” Sauron tilted his head like he wanted to study him. Maybe all expectant halflings went mad. There was something particular about this one, though. Something familiar. He supposed there was no harm in conversing with the hobbit. A sacrifice made with love could be counted as a debt honoured, and it wasn’t like he was going anywhere. Bilbo promised to trade his own life to save Thorin and had made no attempt to escape.

The perfect opportunity to secure victory had just fallen into his hands. A Dwarf king lay dying while his life blood seeped red into the ice beneath him. Running down to the river below like meandering streams. Thorin had called for his maker to bring him back to the one he loved. A little hobbit from The Shire, and Sauron answered. The things he could learn about their kind, discover how to make them hurt. Sauron used up a great part of his strength to summon an ancient Quenya curse, lost in time and legend to all but a Maia. Determined to one day crush the halfling that was in danger of screwing up his plan.

Sauron still craved the perfection and order that first ignited his attraction to Melkor. He hated how much that loss hurt, and the halfling had seen it. The despair he carried inside him. Maybe they both understood what it was like to love someone so completely, you would do anything to save them. Even though you knew it could end in nothing but pain. In all the long ages of his immortal existence, Sauron had never met anyone quite like Bilbo. There was some indefinable connection between them, but he pushed away contemptible mortal thoughts in favour of darker ones. Suspecting the hobbit might be more willing to submit to his demands if he threatened to take the babe as his own. Another innocent life he could hold over him.

My inspiration to write a sexual relationship between Melkor and Sauron into the story came from this beautiful artwork submitted by Kaprriss on DeviantArt. This is exactly how I imagine Sauron to look in his true form and how he appears to Bilbo as Annatar. Reproduced here with very kind permission from the artist. To see more of her amazing Tolkien inspired creations [click here](https://www.deviantart.com/kaprriss/gallery/56266199/Silmarillion-and-Middle-Earth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qu. Casar : Dwarf  
> Kh. Raklûn : Darling/Precious one  
> Kh. 'Amad : Mother  
> Qu. Olórin : Of dreams or visions/Elvish name for Gandalf in Valinor  
> Qu. Mairon : The Admirable/Elvish name for Sauron in Valinor


	32. Kindred Spirits

**32\. Kindred Spirits**

“Right, you. Sit there.” Dís commanded, and Fíli felt his stomach dip. He knew better than to test his mother’s patience. Rigid line of her mouth only a small indication of how much trouble he was in. “And you better tell me everything.” He settled at her feet and swallowed hard. The poor boy couldn’t even pretend to understand the complexities of an ancient magic, so all Fíli could do was share what he picked up from Gandalf or Bilbo after Erebor was reclaimed. Dís never said a word while he talked, listening to his tale with her head tipped to one side. “Well.” She let out a long whistle when Fíli eventually coughed up all he could remember since opening his eyes on a bloody battlefield and wondering why he was lying on his back. Gazing up at a grey sky with acrid smoke clawing at his throat. Dís was still watching him intently. Despite the fact one of his closest kin was apparently being taken by a curse, her son seemed much more interested in the fate of a certain little hobbit. “This Bilbo must be a rare treasure indeed, if he has bewitched my brother into valuing his worth above everything that lies under the Mountain.”

“He is.” It was out before he could stop it and Fíli felt both cheeks grow warm again. “I suppose we all thought him a bit strange at first. 'Specially when Dwarves is all you’ve ever known. But Bilbo is very sweet, really. Uncle Thorin is completely in love with him.”

Dís gently took his hand in her own and stroked the other down his face.

“I am not sure he’s the only one.”

Fíli’s eyes shot back up to her in alarm.

“'Amad, please.” He whispered. “Don’t.”

Dís knew those boys better than they knew themselves. Her heart ached to see so much pain in her son’s eyes.

“Does he know?”

Fíli thought about trying to convince her with a lie, but there was little point in denying it.

“No, and he never will.”

“Know what?”

Kíli’s cheery voice suddenly cut through the heavy silence. It was a dick move to gatecrash such a tender moment, but this was the one time Fíli was actually pleased to see him.

It took Legolas almost three days to reach Imladris with a dwarf wedged in front of him with all the grace of a plank. Both looked exhausted when they finally rode into the valley on a grey morning. Thorin had refused to take food or rest until they made it across the eastern border of Mirkwood. He only forced down a skin full of water to stop himself passing out from dehydration.

Elrond had just received news that they were only a short distance from the pass and quickly arranged a rather modest welcoming committee. Basically consisting of himself and a very relieved wizard.

“Thorin. Come, tell us all.” Gandalf insisted, waiting for him to dismount when the horse cantered to a stop. Thorin couldn’t seem to scramble off quick enough. Not just his pride that was aching.

“Soon as I get this khûthzul stink off me. I still reek of it.”

Legolas watched Thorin brush himself down with a forgiving smile.

“And you’re welcome.”

Gandalf steered the elf away before the king could do any more damage.

“I take it Dwarves do not travel well at speed.”

“Understatement. He wriggled like a fish caught in a net.”

“I’m sure Thorin is grateful for your aid.” The wizard said kindly. “We must try to be patient. He has suffered a great loss.” Legolas quickly turned back to Gandalf, smile fading away to nothing when he was reminded of the tiny hobbit he had tried so hard to protect.

“I know. I wanted to stop it.” Gandalf had no doubt that was true. The usually placid elf looked positively traumatised by the memory. “But Ada would not be swayed, and Thorin was in no mood to negotiate. None are permitted to wander without leave in my father’s kingdom, so I thought it best to offer safe passage through the wood before he got thrown back in the dungeon.” Gandalf nodded. He could only imagine what Thranduil must have thought about that. “I do not know what was said between my father and the one who came to collect poor Bilbo. I felt like there was something he was holding back, but I could not draw it from him. Only that we should intervene no longer.”

“He is right.” Gandalf said unexpectedly. “Although dark and deadly things are at work, I believe Bilbo was meant to go to the Greenwood and that may be an encouraging thought. I do fear treachery, Legolas, as I said to Lord Elrond not so long ago. But sometimes a traitor may betray himself and do good he does not intend. Do not let your heart be troubled. You have shown your quality, my friend. The very highest.”

“Le hannon, Mithrandir.” The elf replied softly, humbled by the praise. “Dwarves are not so bad. There is a passion that burns inside Thorin’s heart that should not be denied.” Legolas wanted to do all he could to give the hobbit his happy ending. “I made a promise to Bilbo, and I would not go back on my word. He is Elf-friend, and blessed. I don’t think Ada truly wanted that fate for him, despite being swift to hand him over."

Thorin was staring out over the valley like he was searching for Bilbo in the very fabric of the earth and sky. Deep sadness rested on him like a shadow. Elrond was never one to let someone lose themselves to true hopelessness if there was something he could do about it.

"Thorin." He beckoned. "Come, sit by me. I may know something that might help to ease your unhappiness." The king reluctantly dropped down next to him with a sigh. "Delicate as this is, I need to ask you something first.” Elrond wasn’t used to awkward conversations, but he longed to give some credence to the visions. Even if only to settle his own mind that the need to return Bilbo to Thorin was more important than he first believed. “Did Bilbo ever lay with you?”

“What - ” Thorin spat out a stunned gasp. “ - has that got to do with anything?”

“Thorin.” Gandalf poked him hard in the side with the end of his staff. Now he suspected exactly what Elrond had seen in their future, and that meant there was no time to humour Dwarven sensitivities. “Just answer the question.” Thorin glared up at the wizard, but he stayed silent. He had no intention of discussing his one (and only) sexual conquest with a bloody elf.

Elrond leaned towards him and placed a slender hand on his arm. He asked again, softer this time.

“Did you lay together before he was taken?” Gandalf tapped his wand again in warning and Thorin eventually grunted a response. Elrond deemed that was the best they were going to get and gave the wizard a small smile of satisfaction before turning back to a scarlet dwarf. “In my heart, I believe the line of Durin is secure, Thorin.” Elrond concluded, just catching a hint of blue now Thorin's eyes were sparkling again.

“What do you mean?”

“That is something only your Bilbo should answer. It is not for me to say, but you must trust me in this.”

Gandalf waited for the king to leave before he spoke again.

“So, that is what you saw.” The wizard hummed. Rather pleased, but more afraid for Bilbo than ever. "I’m not sure what Yavanna will make of that. If indeed she did not have a hand in it herself. I have never heard of such a thing before and my knowledge of Shire folk is extensive, if I say so myself.” Olórin was the only Maia ever remotely interested in Hobbit lore. “I doubt that happened by mere chance. There is more at work here than dark sorcery, and that gives me hope again.”

“You seem surprised I could keep such a secret, Mithrandir.” Elrond flashed the wizard a grin. “You alone should understand the reach of my pity and patience.”

“I do. Both of which I learned from another.”

“And in your wisdom, you embraced them.” Elrond’s eyes were filled with respect.

“I should have kept a better watch on Mairon when his eye was drawn away from the light, his purity tainted. A tragic casualty of Melkor’s desire.” Gandalf seemed to be mumbling away to himself through private thoughts. A habit of the old. “Maybe it was the red hair.” Elrond gaped at him in silent astonishment while he struggled to think of a way to change the subject. Imagining Gandalf knew more about the goings-on in Angband than he ever let on before.

“His choices have always been his own. That is not on you.”

“No, but it could have been any one of us who embraced the darkness. Can anyone say for certain where the road will lead them if they let their heart decide the path.”

“Should we call on our allies?" Elrond asked slowly. "Bard and his men might come now Thorin has honoured the debt he owed them. Such a task may be attempted by the weak with as much hope as the strong.”

“No.” Gandalf shook his head. “He was always fiercely loyal to Melkor, and the duty to aid those who would resist the arts of Sauron is mine, and mine alone. Though I once feared to take it. Manwë told me that was the one reason why I should.”

“And do you fear him now?”

“I think I do not fear him enough.”

Legolas suddenly interrupted their fragile peace. Sprinting over the dewy grass to reach them, desperate and breathless.

“Hîr vuin, Mithrandir. Thorin.” He pointed frantically at the hidden pass. “An gell nîn. Just come.”

Gandalf and Elrond quickly followed him. Thorin had learned of Bilbo's fate and was already heading back across the water with his jaw set in determination. It was no secret in Imladris that the hobbit had been taken to Dol Guldur and the king was now intent on destroying the dark enemy. Legolas wanted to stop him before he hurt himself.

"Thorin!" Gandalf called after him. "Wait."

Thorin ignored him, suspiscious mind convincing his heart he was being betrayed by all those he had come to trust. Thorin started pacing up and down the path. A sure sign he was about to unleash a violent fury. "Why would anyone take Bilbo to that accursed fortress?" He turned his wrath on Legolas. “If you had told me, I would have crawled there myself to save him. If I had all the hosts of darkness at my heels!”

“Do not make that threat so lightly.” Gandalf said seriously. “How could Legolas have known, Thorin? Do not repent of your thanks for the service he has done you.” The wizard made an impulsive decision he hoped none of them would live to regret. He must do anything to help his friends, even if he had to face Sauron himself. His expression softened with a sudden smile. "You will not go alone."

"Tharkûn - "

“You will not go alone." Gandalf said again. "Because this time we are coming with you.”

The only measure known to Sauron was desire. Desire for power. So this was how he judged all hearts. Mystified as to why a halfling cared enough for a dwarf to try and break the spell at all. Returning once more in the evening to make sure the hobbit was still breathing. Bilbo didn’t look up, but he knew Annatar was watching him.

“So, who was it?” Bilbo asked innocently, picking at the few pathetic scraps left in his bowl. Annatar said nothing, so Bilbo threw in another lump of bait. “The one who broke your heart.” The faint little voice suddenly cut deep and carved a hollow inside that dark soul. There was a long and agonising silence. Sauron trusted no one. Not anymore. "I expect it was someone important. I met Irmo once, you know. Well, twice actually, if you can count a dream." Bilbo rattled on. "I don’t know much about all that creation business, but I haven’t spent my whole life in a hole under the ground. Actually, wait - ” Sauron continued to ignore him. The smouldering calm was starting to feel like it could ignite into a spark of fire at any second. Just waiting for the perfect moment to consume him. "So, did Eru create you? All the spirits, I mean." Bilbo corrected, but Sauron still refused to answer. "Gandalf used to tell the little fauntlings about the Valar when he passed through Hobbiton. Treat us all to one of his legendary firework displays. How I miss him." Sauron knew nothing about halflings, but the one he now held prisoner fascinated him in a way he could not explain. "I love Thorin, but I miss my home too, if you can believe it. I would give a good deal right now for the feel of grass on my toes." Bilbo wiggled them all just to illustrate the point. Sauron didn’t seem to take the hint, straining his gaze across the vast plains to the South.

“Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?”

“All the time.” Bilbo shrugged, not deterred in the slightest.

"His name was Melkor." Sauron replied, after a long pause. Forgetting himself for a second. "Not that it is any concern of yours." Bilbo thought he had heard that before somewhere but he couldn't quite place it. He understood perfectly well what it was like to give in to secret desires and bugger the consequences, but he stayed quiet. Debating the deadly implications of that gilded cuff still adorning his little ankle. He knew better than anyone how that went, and Melkor always was the jealous type.

 _Mairon_. _Give in to me_ , _and I will give thee whatsoever thy lust may demand_. _With both hands_. Sauron slipped into deception and the twilight of shadows from the moment he first let a Vala touch him. Annatar adopted his fair form to trick the odd elf or two in the past, but that wasn’t why he kept it. That was the one he always wore when he lay with Melkor.

"Did you love him very much?" Bilbo asked absently.

 _Always such a good boy for me, Mairon_. A kiss had caressed his mouth with the promise of ice and flame. _Pia rácanya_. Sauron was suddenly staring down at his own hands like he expected to see a golden ring still wrapped around one finger. Of all the monsters Melkor created, Mairon was the one he took most pride in. The Maia who fell the hardest. At the end there was nothing left in his eyes but a cold emptiness. Delighting in all the damage he inflicted on the world as power devoured him completely. Erasing all the dark majesty Sauron worshipped and shaping what Morgoth had become. A liar without shame.

Annatar dragged in a stuttered breath, but only Bilbo noticed that his cheeks were wet.

“Does it matter?”

Then he was gone again.

“I’m sorry.” Bilbo murmured after him, desolate at being left alone again with nothing but his thoughts for comfort. “I miss my heart, too.”

Bilbo lit a candle and pulled his jacket tight around his body. Settling himself in the window and gazing out across dark and shapeless lands. Wondering if he would survive long enough to see another Spring, ever kiss those cherished lips again. Thorin once told him he had good luck far exceeding his allowance, and Bilbo hoped that luck would hold. Consoling himself with happier thoughts of a life he left behind. Bilbo suddenly imagined he could hear the sweet melody of a harp so beautiful, it drenched his spirit with warmth but it was just a precious memory from long ago. Bilbo had forgotten everything else while that silvery sound carried him far away from home in his mind. It soon faded when he opened his eyes again and looked around in despair. Now the faraway places of his imagination had become a terrible reality. Bilbo ran his little fingers along the cold stone, whispering Thorin’s name into the night and wishing it could somehow be carried away on the air until it reached him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. 'Amad : Mother  
> Kh. Khûthzul : Elvish/Of the Elves  
> Si. Ada : Father  
> Si. Le hannon : Thank you  
> Si. Hîr vuin : My Lord  
> Si. An gell nîn : Please/For my joy  
> Kh. Tharkûn : Staff-man/Dwarvish name for Gandalf  
> Qu. Pia rácanya : My little wolf


	33. Valar

**33\. Valar  
**

Thorin inhaled deep. Sad eyes still scanning a far horizon. He turned to the small company with resolution scratched in every line of concern.

“I am sworn in my heart to save him. But I do not ask anyone to stand beside me.”

“You didn’t ask.” Gandalf smiled down at him. Thorin was too consumed by the desire for vengeance to make any sane decisions, and no respectable wizard would be dismissed so easily. Now he knew Bilbo was carrying the future heir of Erebor, Gandalf believed the Valar had blessed him with another chance to save the sons of Durin. He would not fail them a second time. “I understand. But Bilbo needs you to live, Thorin. It would be a cruel blow to learn his sacrifice meant nothing.”

“Do not tell me how to feel when I can only imagine what horrors have befallen him in that foul place.”

Gandalf rested one hand on Thorin’s shoulder, sensing his bulk dip at the touch.

“I do not doubt your conviction. What I fear is your hopelessness.” Thorin turned away, entire body crushed under the weight of guilt. “You underestimate the power we now face. I know this enemy and all his dark purposes. You risk harm coming to Bilbo if you let your judgment be clouded by the pain in your heart.” The Dwarf king had never looked so wretched.

“But I do not know what else to do. My arms feel so empty without him.”

“Then, do not throw your life away in bitterness.” Gandalf added softly. “No counsel have I to give those who despair, but Bilbo loves you very much, Thorin. Do not forget it.”

“Never. But do we really stand a chance against such a terrible foe?”

“If the company is not waylaid by wolves or destroyed by blasts of sorcery, you may get close enough to see for certain if he is held there.” Legolas cut in. “Mirkwood scouts say it is so, but I cannot be sure until I have looked on Bilbo again with my own eyes.”

“Those eyes would be of great use to us in the dark depths of the forest if you could somehow be persuaded to come along with us.” Gandalf hinted.

Legolas suddenly laughed, a beautiful sound that sent clear ripples singing through the air.

“I will not leave Thorin now.” He smiled at the dwarf with a love not shared between those races since the days of Durin. “My bow serves the king until they are wed, and Bilbo is as happy as I have always wished him to be. That sweet little hobbit trusts me to do all I can to help. I would not be proved faithless.” Legolas spoke with sincerity. If the curse was ever broken, he might have a decent chance at getting an invite. Thorin said nothing. The loyalty of the elf was an unexpected blessing that stole his voice. He dipped his head in gratitude.

“I shall gather together all those who can be spared.” Elrond added. “But it is many leagues to the edge of the forest.”

“I do not deem it wise to charge the fortress with a direct attack.” Gandalf sighed, fated always to heal the hurts of Sauron. “Our best hope will be in speed and secrecy. We go to a deliverance, not a fight. But it may come to that in the end.”

“Very well.” Elrond replied. “I will accept your counsel, Mithrandir, though my heart warns against it. I fear an ill fortune may befall the halfling if we try to take him by force.”

“I would not risk his life.” Gandalf promised. “Rather, we must draw out the enemy with small hope for ourselves.”

Bilbo eventually drifted off again. Cold and hunger only the merest fraction of the torment he had endured since being parted from Thorin. The hobbit stirred in his sleep when one of the more benevolent spirits joined her thought with his. Yavanna once learned of the creations Aulë wrought in secret, but to anticipate the will of Eru was a transgression she had found hard to forget. The many saplings of Arda already grown were not loved by the iron axes of the dwarves Aulë made. She wanted to heal the rift between them and make sure this hobbit’s gentle loyalty to his king could never again be doubted. The trees of Aulë were the mountains where his cherished Dwarves now dwelled. But they had so few children, and Mithrandir already suspected that the goddess herself had chosen Bilbo to protect the seed of Durin’s son. Bear the fruit of their lovemaking and give the king a true heir.

 _I shall watch over you and the budding of new life you carry, halfling_. Yavanna comforted. _You will understand soon enough the destiny we have chosen for you_. Bilbo suddenly gasped, jerked awake with a start to find one hand resting on his rounded belly. He stroked it protectively, trying to make sense of the many images that shaped his dreams. Bilbo shook the drowse away. But that was impossible. He was a boy for starters, and that was potentially problematic at best. The implications of her message shoved his heart into his mouth.

Bilbo was suddenly reminded of another terrible warning that haunted distorted visions in Rivendell. A nightmare from which there was no waking. _They are one_. _The Ring and_ _the Dark Lord_. _He must never find it_. Who was this Dark Lord? Bilbo slipped the other hand into the depths of a pocket. His own ring was usually cold and lifeless, but now it seemed to warm to his touch when he ran his fingertips over its curves as a distraction. Each new day felt as long as a life age without the thud of a Dwarven heart beating against him. _But Thorin is not here and you’re a long way from Rivendell, Bilbo, you sentimental fool_. He wiped the back of his hand across misty eyes. The growing ache in his stomach now went far beyond a few small pangs of hunger. A sore trial for a Hobbit. Bilbo was considering the merits of consuming the putrid dregs of last night’s supper when he found himself staring down at the golden thing resting heavy in his palm. He couldn’t even remember taking it out, but now it felt like a great weight in his tiny hand.

His captor returned again at dusk to find Bilbo slumped miserably against the wall, pale and shivering. Sauron waited in the shadows for a long time, head bowed in thought. So many ages he had spent in loyal service to the legacy of his master. He once intended to keep the halfling alive just long enough to be useful. Not sure how long he could hide in shadows. The Valar knew much, but sometimes there were things they could not see. Even Melkor had not seen his own end. Centuries of masking unbearable pain and erasing the memory of his face had crumbled away to dust. All Sauron now remembered were those perfect eyes of living flame. The little hobbit had reminded a blackened heart what it was like to love, and how much it hurt when that love was lost forever. Bilbo had unwittingly awakened some last remnant of humanity that tortured him with strange feelings Sauron had long forgotten. Now his dark mind was filled with doubt. He never before felt pity or regret, but it was there. Buried deep inside him and gnawing away at his conscience. The hobbit blinked into the gloom. He must have slept the whole day away. Darkness was all around him now, but Bilbo could just make out two rosy eyes watching him from a distance.

“I wasn’t sure you were coming back.” Bilbo yawned, stretching the stiffness out of every limb. “But I’m glad you did. I don’t much like being alone. Maybe I just miss Thorin.”

“Do you still believe he will come for you?” Sauron asked quietly.

“Well.” Bilbo dragged himself up a little straighter. Still weak and disoriented. The fire in his spirit had taken a serious dowsing, despite the wonderful thought of a legendary king of Dwarves rampaging through Mirkwood on a mission to rescue one ridiculous hobbit. “I specifically told him not to and he knows that spell will mean certain death if he refuses to let me go.” Bilbo somehow managed a little smile. “So, yes. I expect so.”

Sauron forced himself to focus on his true purpose. Pretend his heart was still a lifeless weight in his chest. _Get information from the halfling_. _Take the child before it could_ _defeat him_. Let him come, then. Let them all come.

The company reached the fortress by evening of the third day. Bilbo had spent many lonely hours just waiting. Annatar had said nothing more about the curse, in spite of the hobbit’s persistence. His visits had now grown few and far between. Bilbo assumed immortal spirits had much better things to do than bother with emotional halflings, but that wasn’t it at all. Sauron was now at the mercy of a new threat. Fear.

Thorin was all set to burst through the outer defences with Orcrist swinging, but Gandalf insisted on going in alone. He was the only one who even stood a fighting chance against the Necromancer, and Thorin’s desperation would likely make him careless. The dwarf had to be held back while they watched the wizard go on in silence.

Gandalf never expected the fortress to be so deathly still, even under the cover of night. Almost too quiet, if he was honest. Sauron had many spies, and Gandalf suspected at least one of those evil creatures had seen their company approach. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the prospect of seeing Mairon again. Someone who had once stood by his side in faithful service to the Valar for years uncounted.

The wizard crept up many winding steps and black passageways with only the glow of his staff to guide him over dangerous piles of shattered brick. When he finally reached the top of the highest tower, the last thing he expected to find was a bundle of hobbit.

“Bilbo!” Gandalf beamed at him, blue flame lighting up his smile. “How it warms my heart to see you alive and in one piece.” The relief on his face was almost tangible. “If not a good deal thinner than I remember.” The hobbit looked starved to death save for the unmistakable pudge around his middle. “But I am here now, and you will not suffer another day in this terrible place.”

Bilbo just stared up at the wizard in mute amazement. He wanted to cry all over again. Torn between the joy of seeing a friendly face and being livid that everyone seemed so insistent on trying to rescue someone who didn’t want to be saved.

“What are you doing?” He managed at last, scrambling for purchase on the stone. “How did you get past the gate?”

“There is no one here. At least no one who has dared to challenge me. Yet.” Gandalf added solemnly. “Come. We must be gone from here without delay. The dark soul who holds you is filled with nothing but poison.”

“I don’t know what you mean, I’m sure.” Bilbo sniffed. The pain in those fiery eyes when Annatar spoke of the love he lost was so heartbreaking, the hobbit felt another tiny lump of sympathy stick in his throat. The wizard watched Bilbo with growing alarm when he made no attempt to get up. “I need to stay.”

“I will not leave you here alone, and I fear he has seduced even you with his many deceptions. Sensing the kindness in your heart. He is the Necromancer, Bilbo. You do not know your peril.”

Bilbo scrunched up his little nose.

“What’s a Necromancer?”

“My dear friend. I believe the spirit who took you once served an ancient evil.” Gandalf paused, not sure he should reveal that knowledge with the enemy so close. “It is Sauron.”

“Sauron?” Bilbo gasped, shaking his head in disbelief. “But tales tell of his fall long ago.”

“That is so. But always after a respite, the shadow takes another shape and grows again.”

“You cannot mean it.” Bilbo stammered. Blood suddenly turning to ice when he realised what the wizard was implying. “But I thought that he was only a Maia.”

“Only a Maia?” Gandalf replied, supposing he should be insulted. “My boy, do not cast that aside so lightly. The last great powers to walk this world beyond the realm of Valinor.” The words now felt bitter on his tongue. Nothing had ever weighed so heavily on his heart than the treachery of one he once called friend.

“Goodness me.” Bilbo started humming away to himself, twisting the hem of his jacket between trembling fingers. Damaged mind left weak and shaken by the loneliness of his isolation. “Well. That does sound impressive.”

“Alright.” Gandalf said decisively, taking Bilbo firmly by the hand and hauling him to his furry feet. “Abandonment of your senses has officially set in. Come with me.”

“Wait. It can’t be.” Bilbo said suddenly, eyes wide and shining. “He said his name was Annatar.”

Gandalf faltered, staring at the hobbit in horror now all doubt was cast aside.

“We must get you away from here at once.”

“No.” Bilbo said again. Pulling away from the wizard with surprising determination. He remembered the last look in Thorin’s eyes when he finally acknowledged the depth of shadow that had crawled inside him. There was never any other real choice to be made. “He promised to lift the curse if I stay.”

“The mouth of Sauron may lie.” Gandalf squeezed the hobbit’s tiny fingers to reassure him. “And you are in greater danger than you can possibly imagine.”

“But he hasn’t hurt me, you see?” The hobbit tried again. “He’s just a lost and lonely soul.”

“Bilbo.” Gandalf said gently. “He’s a villain.”

The rest of the company were still hidden from the searching eye of Sauron by the dense thickets and climbing thorns that formed an almost impenetrable circle around the citadel. Legolas did his best to avoid disaster but reasoning with Thorin was impossible while they waited for Gandalf to come back with news. The dwarf even hoped he might see the wizard striding through the gate with a hobbit curled up in his arms, but that hope was fading fast with every moment that passed without any sign of his return. The red eye of wrath was now fixed on Olórin and the halfling being reluctantly dragged along behind him. These were the marks of a conspiracy. Incensed that anyone should dare to stand against the might of his dark power. But he was not defeated yet, so Sauron let them go. Patient watchfulness masking a rage that smouldered just beneath the calm surface. He had many exits from his lair.


	34. Bittersweet

**34\. Bittersweet**

Gandalf never dared to hope their escape would be so easy. Instinct proving right when many golden eyes suddenly pierced the dark before the dawn. Spreading light of day picking out ominous silhouettes crawling from twisted undergrowth.

Sauron had sent the wolves out first. Bilbo stood rigid in terror, wound prickling with the memory of the last time one of those fell creatures sank its teeth into him. Still clinging to the wizard while the huge beasts circled the little hobbit with saliva dripping from their fangs. Thorin slipped free of Legolas and flung his body over the tangled briers when he spotted the ethereal glow of Gandalf’s staff radiating out through inky darkness. Ignoring the sting of tiny daggers where sharp thorns cut into his hide. Numb to almost everything else but the desperate need to rescue Bilbo from the dark terrors now closing in from every direction.

Bilbo managed to shake the grip on his hand and ran back to the fortress as if the very whips of Sauron were licking at his heels. Scampering over jagged stones in his haste to return to Annatar before something really bad happened. The spirit would be furious when he realised the hobbit was gone, and Bilbo was still steadfast in his determination to trade his own life to spare the king.

“Bilbo!” The wizard yelled after him, panic in his voice. “Stop. We shall all be scattered and lost.” Legolas sprang past the dwarf and after Bilbo before those monsters could cut him off at the gate.

“Wait.” The elf caught him up with little difficulty. “Thorin needs to see you are safe.”

Bilbo stopped dead, gazing at Legolas over one shoulder.

“Thorin?” Bilbo gasped. Round eyes frantically searching the trees just to look on his love again. “He’s here?” Bilbo knew he was supposed to stay but the temptation to touch Thorin one last time was too much. Never able to resist strong arms holding him close, rough skin caressing his lips and parting them with a possessive tongue that felt like it wanted to taste his very soul. He hesitated, indecision filling his mind. “Thorin.” Bilbo murmured again, hope budding in his heart. Legolas gathered the hobbit up and sprinted back towards the small company before he could change his mind. “Put me down!” Bilbo protested, wriggling in the grip of Elven arms while he pounded futile blows against Legolas' chest. “I have to go back.” Bilbo suddenly stopped fighting and fell limp, head dropping down in resignation. “Please, let me go. I need to stay.” His voice was so small and weak, Legolas feared they may already be too late. “Why won’t anyone listen to me?”

“I am, Bilbo.” Legolas spoke into soft curls. “But Mithrandir will find another way and I will not leave you here alone. I promised to save you, if I could.”

“But I don’t want to be saved.” Bilbo murmured sadly. “I want Thorin to live.”

Legolas gently set the hobbit down at the edge of the circle, stunned by his unshakable desire to pursue such a selfless sacrifice.

“I doubt very much that Thorin would want to live if you were not with him. It is you, Bilbo, and your love for him that keeps his heart beating. Cursed or not.”

“Legolas.” Bilbo said quietly, gazing up at the elf in despair. “Do you still not understand? I saw him die once. Never, never again will I watch those blue eyes close forever.”

Legolas dropped to one knee and slipped both hands around the hobbit’s waist.

“And do you remember what I asked you before you were taken?” Bilbo frowned down at him, happy memories blurred by the torment of many lonely days in captivity. “Would you have changed it, if you could?” The elf reminded him. Bilbo stared at Legolas, lip trembling when he remembered the unspoken promise in his heart to do everything he could to make Thorin happy.

“Never.”

“Then fight for it.”

Bilbo inhaled a breath so deep, his little body shook with it. Shining gaze drifting past Legolas while he searched for his king in the shadows. The elf reached for his hand again, but their chance was lost. Hopeful silence destroyed by a clamour of hideous noise above their heads. Bilbo clasped both hands to his ears. Desperate to drown out the shrieks and the flapping of many wings. Wolves scattered when huge shapes cloaked in blackness poured from the decaying rafters to fill the russet sky. Legolas shielded Bilbo, drawing his bow and shooting countless arrows into the writhing mass gathering over the ruins. Dark creatures of immense size moved together as one, swirling overhead before swooping down to try and tear their enemies apart with teeth and claws. Bilbo was terrified. Caught between the bats and the wolves, there was little hope of making it to Thorin without losing an eye.

The battle seemed to last forever, and Sauron was growing impatient. He left his sanctuary and strode towards the gate. Sinister creatures flooding out behind him like a cloak of infinite shadow. Legolas was still completely overwhelmed by many black shapes. Spending arrows before he could stoop to pick up the fallen or retrieve those buried deep in the beasts he had already destroyed.

Bilbo now stood helpless and alone before Annatar. Trapped between bloodthirsty wolves and a powerful spirit he could never hope to defeat. But Sauron couldn’t find it in his dark heart to kill him. Not like this. Here at the gates of his own fortress, when the halfling looked so small and defenceless. But he could crush that wretched dwarf. Oakenshield never honoured the vow he made in death and Sauron intended to collect. Thorin was charging up the path with his sword unsheathed, completely unaware of how much danger awaited him.

Wolves snapped at his heels but Thorin swept them all aside with the skill of his blade, mutilated bodies falling before him like the crashing of a wave. Bilbo wanted to run, but his little feet refused to carry him away from such a terrifying presence. How he wished he had listened to Gandalf. Sauron held up one hand as a dreadful warning and Bilbo couldn’t move at all. Frozen by the fear of knowing what was to come if he dared to take one more step outside that ring of darkness. Bilbo suddenly heard the beautiful sound of Thorin’s deep voice calling out his name in desperation. Sauron set his piercing gaze on the king. Raising his arm ever higher until the tips of his long fingers glowed with sparks of amber fire.

“No! I will stay. Please.” Bilbo begged, sinking to his knees in supplication. “Take me instead.”

“It is too late.” Annatar’s voice was now bitterly cold, devoid of emotion. So different from the one Bilbo remembered when they shared precious memories inside the dark constraints of his citadel. “I will have what was promised. Even in the name of a treacherous father who cast me from his thought long ago.” Sauron hesitated. “I will leave you to another fate, halfling. You gave something back to me, and I am in your debt for it. But if ever we meet again, I shall not be so merciful.” Bilbo stared up at him, their eyes locked in that one instant when mutual understanding flowed between them. Sauron would let the hobbit live in repayment for awakening a precious memory in his heart. Making one last fateful choice now his love for Melkor burned anew with imperishable flame.

Thorin was almost upon him when Gandalf suddenly leapt between Sauron and the king, wand held aloft. It only fuelled the anger that swirled inside the Necromancer like a maelstrom. Despising anyone who would dare to try and cheat the spell. He must seal the Shadowheart curse and take the life he was owed. Bilbo watched Annatar in silent horror. The smouldering eyes were now burning with a red rage. He seemed oblivious to all else but Thorin as he charged forward. Not sure who he longed to decimate more. His nemesis, or that infuriating abomination of a dwarf whose absolute love for the halfling made bile threaten to choke him.

Sauron lifted his trembling arm higher, vibrating with the dark power welling up as the chance of victory disintegrated in front of flaming eyes.

“No!” Bilbo screamed in terror, a streak of flame and shadow surging from Sauron’s fingertips. All his malice targeted at the heart he now claimed in compensation for the hurts done to him by this rabble who dared to defy him. Bilbo scrambled to his feet and threw himself in front of Thorin, impact of the blast striking him in the chest. He dropped like a stone, unconscious before he hit the ground. Thorin’s cry of agony echoed in the still dawn when he saw his love fall. The curse of shadow had now passed to Bilbo. Lying lifeless in the choking dust as Sauron turned and fled. Retreating to the safety of his black fortress in bitter defeat.

“Look to the hobbit.” Legolas cried, shooting many futile arrows after the enemy before he disappeared into the gloom.

The wizard bent down beside the king, his own eyes filled with tears. Thorin was inconsolable, despite the comforting presence at his side.

“Do not despair.” Gandalf whispered softly. “Your Bilbo is made of sterner stuff than you imagine." Rigid shoulders heaved with sobs while Thorin cradled the fallen halfling in his arms. “He is not dead.” The dwarf dried his eyes with new hope. “And I believe Bilbo will do all he can to resist the shadow and come back to you. There is no better cure for a damaged heart than love.” But the king still wanted vengeance.

“Legolas.” Thorin pleaded. “I beg you to bear my Bilbo away while I deal with that _filth_.” Thorin spat, hatred for the one who had hurt his love consuming every inch of his being. Gandalf stopped him with a gentle hand.

“No.” The dwarf wrenched himself away, powerless to prevent his heart from demanding retribution until he himself was either slain or taken. “Thorin.” Gandalf commanded, blocking the path with his staff pressed between them. “You cannot kill him, and it would be dangerous to try.” The wizard suspected Mairon would soon be judged by someone much fiercer than a king of Dwarves. “Leave him to a higher power.”

Thorin swayed before the wizard in disbelief, blood pumping so hard he almost lost his balance.

“You cannot ask me to let him live while my heart lies broken at his feet.”

“It is useless to meet revenge with revenge.” Gandalf replied. “It will heal nothing. You must see to Bilbo before he is lost to you forever.”

Thorin glanced between the stronghold and the shattered body with pain in his eyes. Tormented by the need to destroy over the desire to pick Bilbo up and carry him away before the shadow returned.

“Can you not help him?” The dwarf asked, through cruel tears.

“I do not know. I will do what I can, but I fear he has taken a hurt beyond my healing.” Gandalf rested one hand on Bilbo’s chest, but he sensed his own magic was not enough. The curse had been forced too deep. He needed something much more powerful. Love.

“What have you done?”

Sauron turned to the voice. Mandos was standing before him. Keeper of the Slain. It was his divine right to pronounce judgement, but Mairon was once a trusted Maia and he could not forget it.

“I have done nothing but collect a debt that was owed to me.” Sauron replied, hatred for the Vala streaming through his eyes. Remorse was not an emotion he remembered, but Bilbo had been cursed by his hand and it filled him with regret. “But I am sorry the halfling was hurt. It was not my intention.”

Mandos reached for the small hope that this lost spirit was not beyond redemption.

“Power over life and death is not granted to you, Mairon.” The Vala answered sternly. But he was not without mercy for a broken soul. “Ilúvatar will forgive you.” Sauron glanced around at the smoking ruins of his fortress and the body of the hobbit still lying in the king’s arms. Sauron refused to demean himself by pleading for salvation from his creator, but there was something else there. Something painful and terrifying. He was ashamed.

“There is no forgiveness. Not for me.” Sauron finally turned away from the devastation. Remembering how his immortal spirit had filled with lifeblood when Melkor stood by his side. “My heart waits for me in the Void. When I fall, I will find the door of night and pass beyond the walls of this world as one new awakened, for I do not fear the darkness.”

“If that is your will, I cannot help you. But do something good with the time that you have left.” Mandos urged him. The emptiness in those honeyed eyes was haunting. Sauron wanted Mandos to see all the damage the Valar had done.

“Maybe now those who love Bilbo will understand what it is like to have your heart ripped away from you. I made my choice a long time ago, and one day I will see him again.”

Námo had called to his brother in his thoughts. Between them they had the power to command the spirits of the dead and cross the bridge between reality and dreams. The Fëanturi stood together now. Both longing to give one of the Maiar a last chance to redeem himself.

“Lift the shadow from the halfling.” Mandos demanded. Sauron closed his eyes. Rosy light behind them fading out before he walked away without an answer. “Mairon - ”

“That is not my name.” Sauron gave Mandos one last look of betrayal before he turned his back on Valinor forever. “Not anymore.”

“Bilbo.” Thorin tried to coax the hobbit’s eyes open with a gentle touch of his hand, the other carefully stroking damp hair from a pallid face. “Please wake up. Come back to me and let us never part in this life again. I _will_ save you. Nung kurduwê.” Thorin kissed the stiff fingers, rubbing the little knuckles against his lips as if he could somehow breathe all the life back into them. “I swear it to you, my love.” Gandalf sensed the Valar fade away.

“Come.” Elrond helped the king to stand, but Thorin refused to release Bilbo from his embrace. Just holding the hobbit even closer to his chest. “We must leave this place at once and return to Imladris. It is our only hope against the darkness that now fills his heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qu. Fëanturi : Masters of Spirits/A title given to the brothers Námo and Irmo  
> Kh. Nung kurduwê : Flower of my heart


	35. Kith And Kin

**35\. Kith And Kin**

Fíli was all packed and ready to tread the many leagues that lay between Ered Luin and the little hobbit he longed to see again. Dís and Kíli wanted to wait a few more days before they headed for Rivendell, but there was so much desperation in Fíli’s eyes, they agreed to make a start before the sun set over Thorin’s Halls. Fíli was so worried about Bilbo, he could no longer hide his concern. Kíli spent most of his days in a haze of blissful ignorance, but even he clicked on that his brother was more intent on retrieving said hobbit than was natural for a simple bond between companions who once shared the road on a long-forgotten quest.

It took several days for Thorin and the small company to carry Bilbo’s body back to Rivendell. Bofur was one of the first to greet them when they arrived. He spent most of his lonely hours chasing after Lindir and absorbing Elven culture now the object of his desire seemed surprisingly tolerant of the constant presence by his side.

“Bofur, bâhayê.” Thorin hugged the stunned dwarf so tight, his hat slipped over his eyes. “It is good to see you again.” It was the first time Thorin had smiled since the day Bilbo fell.

“I will wait for you by the waterfall.” The moment was interrupted by a dark-haired elf. “You promised to teach me Angerthas today.”

“So I did.” Bofur replied, lustful gaze lingering until Lindir all but disappeared from view.

“I see I am too late to save you.” Thorin sighed, the small smile still hanging on his lips.

“I don’t want savin'.” Bofur laughed. “Not from that. Oh, I’m not so daft to believe he would ever love me, but I take what I can get. He puts up with me tagging along and he’s very pretty.”

“Yes, he is.” Thorin patted his friend warmly on the shoulder, his other hand spread across his heart. “But this beats only for my Bilbo. In my eyes, none can compare.”

“Bilbo.” Bofur grinned wide, eyes searching for the hint of pointy ears. “Where is he? How I’ve missed that furry little bugger.” Thorin’s smile suddenly faded. He couldn’t find the words to explain so much sorrow and looked back over his shoulder to where Legolas was keeping faithful watch. Bofur ran towards them, all his happiness crushed in an instant when he saw Bilbo again. His little body was wrapped up in a length of cloth and suspended between two of the smaller ponies. He looked like he might have just fallen asleep. Complete serenity on his soft features masking the curse of a living death. “What happened?” Bofur gasped, in horror. “Is he - ”

“No.” Thorin stopped him. Even the mention of death made him feel sick again. “But he is very hurt.”

“Oh, Bilbo.” Bofur sighed, rubbing the water from his eyes. He always knew the little hobbit was prepared to sacrifice anything for Thorin, but seeing him like this ripped at his conscience. Gandalf saw much, but even he could not foretell how Bilbo and Thorin’s story would end. Elrond had imagined life and death together as one, but he did not know the will of the Valar and Bilbo’s true purpose to unite the Ainur and carry on the line of Durin. They both suspected Sauron was long gone. Left to brood in silence until he was strong enough to rise again. Thorin held Bilbo’s hand when they lay the hobbit in a chamber facing the mountains. The king requested a room with a window to let in the sunlight. Thorin couldn’t bear to leave him in the dark. Bofur vowed to stay with him.

Dís and the boys had tramped on without rest save for food and water. They were met at the borders of Rivendell by Elven scouts, and escorted to the halls with as much haste as they could muster after such a long journey. Lord Elrond had not prepared Dís well for what awaited her when she was led to Thorin. She had longed to look on the one her brother had waited so many years for, but not like this. Dís blinked anxiously in the dim light. Thorin was kneeling beside a low plinth, and he never tired of watching. Resting on a bed of satin lay a malkân surrounded by candles that had almost burned down to their wicks. His tiny form adorned with gems and the many flowers Thorin had set in his hair that still shone in the amber light like a sky of golden stars.

“Fíli told me he was beautiful.” Thorin turned to his sister when he heard her soft voice filter through the shadows behind him. “But my son did not do him justice.”

“Dís.” It was all Thorin could manage before wrapping both arms around her and holding her close. She could feel him shaking. Dís had only seen Thorin cry once before when the boys came into the world, but these were no tears of joy. Her brother looked broken.

“Do you truly love him?”

“More than the Mountain and everything that lies beneath it.” Thorin exhaled, releasing all the shallow breath that had stayed trapped inside him since the moment he saw Bilbo fall. “But I never realised how much until now.”

Dís gazed down at the hobbit for a long time, hands clasped together in grief for her brother.

“I came to see the one you had chosen to rule by your side, but this is not the meeting I hoped for. I am so sorry, Nadad. What can I do?”

“I do not know.” Thorin reluctantly released her from his embrace. “The elves are trying to heal him, but he has been this way for many days now.”

“Fíli told me about the curse.” Dís said quietly. “Do you think he will ever wake?”

“Tharkûn tells me it may be so, but that promise fades with each new dawn.”

“But we have brought that plant you wanted.” Dís said unexpectedly, and Thorin’s eyes were shining with hope again. “Fíli said it might help. He wouldn’t let us rest until we reached you.” 

Fíli was nowhere to be found, so Kíli was instructed to bring as much of the herb as he could carry and to fetch Gandalf and Elrond on his way back. The elf took out a handful of the leaves and crushed them carefully between his fingers.

“Let us see if we can draw out some of the shadow. I hope we are not too late. It has been many days since you lost him.”

“I did not lose him.” Thorin replied bitterly, eyes never leaving Bilbo’s face. “He was taken from me.” The hobbit was so still, he might have been on the edge of sleep. Rosy tint of his cheeks the only sign at all he was clinging to life. Their peachy glow nothing but a fading memory in Thorin’s heart. Mandos and his brother were the only ones who could call back the spirits of the dead, but maybe Mithrandir could ask for their aid. Help one of their faithful Maiar to reward such a selfless act. Elrond wished he could erase all the pain behind Thorin’s eyes.

“Then let us see if the Valar will give him back to you.” Thorin heaved in a deep breath and moved aside. The elf took up the space beside Bilbo and laid a gentle hand on his chest. “I have some skill in healing.” Elrond continued. “But we have the Athelas now and that is most potent in the hand of a king.”

“Will it be enough?” Thorin asked breathlessly, desperate to try anything that might bring Bilbo back to him.

“Perhaps.” Gandalf answered in Elrond’s stead. “But he must have a reason to fight. His spirit has been tainted by a great evil.” The king had never said those three little words Bilbo longed to hear. Thorin knew why he always held back, betrayed by misplaced fears that threatened everything he had ever known. If he opened up his heart, it was forever. He stared down at Bilbo for a long time. Nothing else mattered now.

“Please. Do what you must.” Thorin sighed, at last. “But if we fail, I will return to Erebor. There I shall lay him on a golden bier and cover him with the flowers he loved so much.”

“Thorin.” Gandalf replied solemnly. “He is not dead, and you should not be so swift to mourn him. Be patient.” The wizard meant well, but it was cold comfort and Thorin was close to collapse. It only seemed to incense him.

“And to what end, if he never comes back from such darkness?” Thorin lashed out, immediately wishing he could take it back. His body crumpled forward with exhaustion, head bowed low in sadness. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke again. “I know now what it is like to feel a grief so profound that it consumes my heart more than any shadow ever could.” The king was struggling to understand how his life had become so interwoven with the fate of Elves. Finally believing someone could die from a broken heart.

“Have faith in Mahâl, Thorin. I believe he will have some part to play before the end.”

“Forgive me. I am weary in body and in heart.”

“As are we all.” Gandalf sighed.

Dís had many questions, so Elrond did his best to explain.

“The magic has now passed wholly to the halfling and he is close to death.” They all heard Thorin stifle a cry. Dís squeezed his fingers. “This may be our last hope. It would be better for Thorin to use it, even though he is no king of Men.”

“Indeed.” Gandalf added. “And may the Valar watch over you. For it is their will that moves us all.”

“What is it?” Dís asked, peering over Thorin’s shoulder.

“Athelas, it was called by Men of the West where they once dwelt.” Elrond answered, respectfully crushing the long leaves into a silver bowl with an ancient invocation. It gave out a wholesome and pungent fragrance. “Asëa Aranion has many virtues.” Elrond steeped the leaves in warm water until the sweet aroma filled the chamber. “But over such a wound as this, its healing powers may be small. True worth lies in the hand of a king.” 

Thorin could feel both hands start to shake when he took the bowl from Elrond. Steam rose from the surface in tiny spirals, and he breathed it in. There was no guarantee the herb would work, but Thorin almost dared to believe again. Knowing how much Fíli and Kíli had endured to give him that one chance to save them all.

The king carefully lifted Bilbo’s head and dipped a scrap of linen into the water, soaking it with the precious infusion before stroking it across the hobbit’s brow and cheeks with reverence. His eyes desperately searching for any tiny movement. Some small sign that Bilbo would awaken. Many times he rubbed the water over the pale skin, but Bilbo did not stir. Thorin finished the ritual by balling the cloth in his hand and placing it over the hobbit’s heart where the shadow was deepest. He felt his stomach sink. There was nothing.

“Call to him, Thorin.” Gandalf said softly. “In my heart, I believe yours is the only voice that can bring him back from the darkness. For he loves you more truly than any of us who are blessed to call him friend.”  


“Bilbo.” Thorin whispered his name against the ashen lips. “Please. Come back.” Not even the faintest hint of breath escaped. The still air clung to Bilbo’s body like a dark shroud. Thorin clenched his fists and dragged himself away.

Fíli eventually emerged from his concealment behind one of the many carven pillars that lined the dais. Bilbo was lying on his back with both pale hands folded across his chest. A wilting sprig of mountain heather had been pressed between his fingers. The pain of seeing Bilbo so lifeless made Fíli scramble for something to hold on to. The merry little hobbit with pink cheeks and a perfect smile was gone. A cruel twist of fate had taken them away. Replaced by a living monument. He looked so deathly silent, Bilbo might have been carved in the stone those Dwarven hands knew so well. The love Thorin had for this halfling gripped at his own heart like a cold fist. They belonged together. Fíli never really doubted it, but maybe he could take one last moment to look upon his face again. Tell Bilbo how much he cared for him without the hobbit ever knowing how deep those feelings ran. How a little halfling had hewn a space inside his soul.

Fíli waited until the chamber was silent again. Thorin had only left at Elrond’s bidding to escort Dís to her rooms and would return soon. The young dwarf grasped at the chance to touch Bilbo’s hand. Stroke the silky hair from his face and will his eyes to open.

“Bilbo.” Fíli murmured, taking both of the hobbit’s cold hands in his own and pressing them to his lips. Golden braids caressing the skin when they fell across his face. “I would not dare to say these words if I believed you could hear me. But I wanted you to know how much you mean to me.” Fíli paused, the memory of Thorin’s grief playing behind his eyes. “But your true happiness lies with the king. I know that now, and I will gladly bear my own heartache forever if you would just come back to him.”

Thorin returned just as Fíli ducked out of sight again. He could see his uncle holding something that twinkled bright in his hands and sucked in a breath of disbelief when Thorin lay the Arkenstone at Bilbo’s feet.

“I promised you anything you desired from the hoard of Thrór. You took this from me once before, but I give it freely now and here I set it.” Thorin vowed. “If you never wake, then the most precious treasures of my house are bound together for eternity.” He touched Bilbo’s cheek when the echo of those beautiful words they shared in the treasure hall resonated in his mind. The last time they kissed haunting every waking thought as memories bled through his veins. Never believing he deserved Bilbo’s unyielding faith in him.

 _You are the King under the Mountain_. _And every corner of my heart_.

Thorin closed his eyes. All the treasure he had strived so hard to reclaim was meaningless without Bilbo to share it. The king no longer cared if the Arkenstone was left behind to comfort his love in the darkness. So much it had cost him already. Bilbo once begged him to be free of it, and maybe now it could shine one last time. Let it rest in peace forever there and bless the icy tomb with its silvery light. Thorin did not wish to look on it again. Its hold on him was finally gone. There was no rivalry there for Thorin’s affections. Not anymore. He settled by Bilbo’s side and reached blindly for a little hand. The only solace he could cling to while he waited for deliverance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. Bâhayê : My friend  
> Kh. Malkân : Half-man/Halfling  
> Kh. Nadad : Brother  
> Kh. Tharkûn : Staff-man/Dwarvish name for Gandalf  
> Qu. Asëa aranion : Beneficial of Kings


	36. The Gift Of Yavanna

**36\. The Gift Of Yavanna**

The king stayed with Bilbo for many hours in silent petition to Mahâl. Shimmering light of the Arkenstone the only radiance in such a dark chamber now night had fallen once more. The sound of Elven voices had long since faded away. All the candles burned out. The hobbit stirred a little in his sleep and Thorin felt his heart leap with hope. He gripped the tiny fingers resting limp in his own and searched Bilbo’s face for some sign of life. The sandy lashes fluttered weakly for a moment as if haunted by some terrible vision in his dreams, and then he was still again. Thorin sank back to his knees, exhausted and defeated. He had been so sure the herb would work. Elrond and Gandalf seemed to value its worth, but even they had eventually bidden Thorin a mournful goodnight and left him alone to his sacred vigil with the promise they would try fresh leaves in the morning. Bofur offered to relieve the king of duty so he could rest, but Thorin dismissed him before the poor dwarf had time to take his place by the platform.

Athelas was their best hope against the cold shadow that kept Bilbo in suspended animation. The virtue was already working its way to his heart, but a spirit lost to such a dark curse would need a powerful reason to fight. Thorin willed him to awaken, even in rare moments of tortured sleep. Bilbo looked like he was in a deep slumber but even in this deathlike state, his senses had not abandoned him completely. The hobbit could still hear faint washes of noise, the warmth of someone’s hand covering his own. Even the welcome rays of sunlight that touched his face when they managed to break through a misty sky.

Bilbo couldn’t make out the details of all that was going on around his sleeping form, but he recognised the deep voice that suddenly permeated the darkness. Thorin? No. Bilbo would know that seductive rumble anywhere. Rough hands felt warm where they touched his skin, but he couldn’t open his eyes no matter how hard he tried. No, not Thorin. Fíli, maybe. Bilbo was still lost to a shadowy world. An endless twilight where everyone passed him by like distant ghosts of another life. Bilbo heard the voice get closer. Low and sincere, but tainted by so much sadness, the hobbit wished he could force his eyes open and take that pain away. The ends of little braids tickled the back of his hands. It was Fíli, he was sure of it now and Bilbo felt his heart skitter with every word of adoration whispered against his skin when the dwarf admitted how much he cared for his fallen companion. _None of that could possibly be true_. Bilbo imagined he must be dreaming.

“Do not judge your worth to be of so little value. You are loved by many, halfling.” That sure wasn’t Fíli. Yavanna had blessed him with words of comfort when he was imprisoned by Sauron, and Bilbo welcomed the soft lull of her sweet voice without pause. “You once vowed to give your life for the king, and you have not proved faithless. What you did was very brave. A quality of yours that has not gone unnoticed.”

Bilbo called out to the goddess in his mind.

“Brave? Oh, no.” He answered modestly. “I’m really not, but thank you very much for saying so. I just wanted Thorin to have what he deserves. He is the rightful king, you know.”

Bilbo’s thoughts were suddenly swamped by a rush of many colourful images. He sat up with a start to find himself in the middle of a ring of fresh saplings that encircled a fruit garden. Blue skies stretched out above his head in every direction. When he was held captive in Dol Guldur, Bilbo only heard her voice. Now Yavanna granted him a vision of her true form, and she was beautiful. A graceful queen, clad in a robe of green. Her long flaxen hair shone like summer sunshine. Eyes brown as ripe chestnuts and a smile that lit up the divine glade with golden light.

“Yes, Bilbo. I know.” Yavanna answered. Clear song of her voice like droplets of fresh water falling on his face and refreshing every corner of his spirit. “Aulë does not let me forget it.” Visitations from one of the Valar always felt like a dream with no waking. Hushed sounds all around him like echoes of a forgotten time. “He has always been fiercely proud of his creations.”

“Well, I should say so.” Bilbo agreed. “Thorin really is a magnificent sight.”

“You love him very much, do you not?”

“I do.” Bilbo nodded, tilting his face to the warmth of her presence. “I wish I had told him how much before the end.”

“What end?” Yavanna prompted.

“Well, this.” Bilbo said blankly, waving one hand in no particular direction. “I am dead, aren’t I?” The hobbit gazed around him in awe at the lush orchard that now filled his mind. The very fruit hanging from the boughs seemed to glow with an inner radiance. “Rivendell is a mighty fine place, for sure. But this is like nothing I ever saw. This isn’t just beautiful.” He hesitated, searching for a word that would do the vision justice. Bilbo sighed happily and stretched out his toes in the dewy grass. “It’s perfect.”

The goddess considered his question, but she did not answer or deny it. Bilbo was still very hurt, and his little body needed rest. The approval of a Hobbit in matters of her gardens was high praise indeed.

“Thank you. I have done my best to make it so.”

Bilbo roamed the celestial gardens while another day passed slowly in Imladris. Each one dragged like an eternity for Thorin, who never left Bilbo alone for more than a few short hours at a time to rest his heavy heart.

Thorin steadily rose to stand, his body completely spent. Both legs threatened to give way beneath him, and he gripped the edge of the plinth to bear himself up. Taking a cherished moment to admire the flawless curves of his sleeping hobbit, the soft sheen of curls that framed his face as if someone had reached down from the heavens and painted them on. Then he saw the Arkenstone. Still resting where Thorin had set it in honour of his beloved Bilbo. It almost felt like it was calling out to him.

From somewhere deep in his subconscious, Thorin remembered what Bilbo had told him. They needed something that would shine bright enough to reflect the curse and remove the shadow. But now that curse had passed to the hobbit, and Thorin believed there was nothing more he could do to save him. Bilbo suddenly gasped in a choked breath, eyes still closed. He twitched and fell still again. Thorin felt abject fear surge through his body and collapsed beside the bier.

“Don’t leave me here alone.” Thorin cried, pulling Bilbo into his arms. Imagining he could still hear a little heart beating in the silent tomb. Gemstones and dying petals tumbled around his feet. “Ȋmri zaizi. Don’t go where I can’t follow. Bilbo - ”

“Thorin.” Gandalf’s voice cut through his despair. “He lives still. Come and rest.”

“Leave me.” Thorin murmured, his voice much softer when he noticed the concern in the wizard’s eyes. “Please. Just leave me be.” The king refused to abandon the chamber. A living crypt he had forged for Consort to the King of Erebor. Thorin lost count of the hours and days he spent there. Kissing Bilbo goodnight every evening before taking a few hours rest. Not that sleep came easily or for long.

Bilbo was lying on his back with his arms folded behind his head like a downy pillow when the goddess visited him again. The hobbit had no idea how long he had been there. Gazing up at azure skies while sunlight danced on his cheeks. Time didn’t seem to pass at all in the enchanted grove and Bilbo suddenly realised he hadn’t eaten or slept for as long as he could remember.

“Bilbo.” Yavanna greeted him warmly. “It is time.”

“Sorry?” The hobbit pushed himself up on his elbows, face scrunched up with confusion. “Time for what?”

Yavanna cast aside her cloak of ethereal magic so the hobbit could see her more clearly.

“Judgement.” Bilbo swallowed down the lump that seemed to be suddenly stuck in his throat. Oh my, that did sound serious. _So he was dead, then_. Bugger. “I did not say what form that justice would take.” Yavanna seemed to sense his fear and smiled down at Bilbo with merriment sparkling in her hazel eyes. “Why did a halfling give his life for a King of Dwarves?”

Bilbo had a moment of hesitation. Not because he couldn’t think of a single reason, but because there were too many to count.

“I think.” Bilbo said slowly, careful not to rush his answer. “Mostly because I wanted Thorin and the boys to be spared. I couldn’t have borne it if I had to watch them die all over again. I know he wanted his line to endure, and now it will. Nothing could ever be more important than that. Not to me.” Bilbo waited to see if he had passed whatever test this was, but the goddess said nothing. Watching him so intently, the hobbit shifted uncomfortably under the awesome power of her gaze. “Can I ask you something?” Bilbo dared, remembering the hints she had cast his way last time she invaded his thoughts. He felt a surge of warm happiness flow through him when he looked down at his little swollen belly. “Is it true?”

“Yes, Bilbo.” Yavanna smiled at him through a haze of sunlight and blossoms laden on branches so heavy with succulent fruit, they bowed under the weight. Spilling golden dew on a barren earth made green by her care. “The true heir to a forgotten kingdom that will soon be restored.”

“And if I stay here?” The hobbit asked slowly. The afterlife was pleasant enough if you liked that sort of thing but honestly - Bilbo thought. He really missed Thorin.

“That choice is still before you. But you can have peace, if you so desire it. Stay here with me and walk through the green woods forever.” Bilbo forced himself to abandon the blissful comfort of soft grass and stood up to face her. Yavanna sensed his indecision. “You must decide before the curse takes hold, Bilbo. We will do what we can to heal you, but you must love Thorin Oakenshield enough to leave all this behind.”

Bilbo rocked on his heels, hands clasped politely behind his back.

“Well, thank you very much, my lady.” Bilbo drew in a deep breath of wholesome air and took in the view with new appreciation for so much beauty. “This really is a Hobbit paradise, but I wish to return. Always, I think I would choose to return to Thorin. He is my true destiny.”

“Yes, and you are his.” The goddess seemed pleased by the answer. “At last you understand. I promised to watch over you and protect the fruit of Durin I have sown with love and care. I believe the king had to understand he must commit his heart to you forever for the sake of a child. Not the son you will bear to Thorin, but another of your kind who will one day change the fate of this world. For the better, I hope. My lord, Aulë, greatly favours your union and I would keep my word to you.” Yavanna moved closer, reaching out to touch the space over his heart. “Is this your wish? There is no going back.”

The dream suddenly shattered when memories of Thorin flooded his mind. How proud he had looked standing on the Carrock with his home rising mighty on a far horizon. How Thorin had hugged him so tight, Bilbo could barely catch a breath. To have that again he would have risked anything. Given _anything_ to feel his touch again. Now those messages from the spirits made sense. Why he had imagined that accursed jewel splintered into a thousand shards of shimmering crystal. Thorin had to relinquish the Arkenstone to prove his love for the little hobbit soared above all else.

“Yes.” Bilbo heard himself whisper. Closing his eyes in acceptance before every leaf and blossom fell away and he was plunged into an unimaginable darkness. So black, it filled the very edges of his vision. He just caught the last words of Yavanna before he remembered nothing more.

“May all your days be blessed, Bilbo.”

Thorin had not moved for a long time, whispering eternal promises into Bilbo’s mouth and holding him close against his chest. With every tortured breath, it felt like he was inhaling some hateful miasma spewing from deep inside the earth he used to love. Thorin finally got it. Power and kingdoms were insignificant now he had nothing left to lose. He lay Bilbo back on his satiny bed.

“Sasakhabiya abnâmul.” Bilbo still looked infinitely beautiful, even in this mockery of death. His spirit was gone, but his body was still there to torment Thorin with an unattainable promise of what might have been. Thorin moved to the end of the plinth and took the Arkenstone from its rest. He stared into its limitless depths one last time before nestling the jewel between Bilbo’s hands. It lit up his pale features with unearthly light. Thorin wanted so much to tell the hobbit he loved him. Even if Bilbo couldn’t hear the words, he would say it now. Mean it with everything. "Maralmizu.” Thorin took one of the cold hands and pressed it to his lips, longing to sense some small pulse of life flow through the icy fingertips. “I love you more than anything, Kimê.”

The centre of the Arkenstone suddenly pulsed bright. Swirls of brilliant colour spinning out of control. Faster and faster they whirled, like every ray of light was trying to break through its confines and pour out into the night. Thorin fell forward, stunned at the sight. He dare not touch it, helpless to do anything but watch in mute amazement as many lustrous beams burst free. Ever upwards they leapt until each one was all but lost among the stars. The stone shattered between Bilbo’s fingers. The hobbit was suddenly jolted awake. His little body shot upright and he blinked wide.

“Oh, Thorin. I love you, too.” Bilbo threw both arms around Thorin’s neck. Echoing the last words flitting through his dreams before darkness claimed all sight and he was returned to the world. Thorin was completely overcome be the joy he felt when round eyes stared back at him. No words could explain the measure of happiness that drenched his heart and soul. Mahâl had answered his plea. Given back the only treasure that ever really mattered.

“Amrâlimê. You came back to me.” Bilbo lifted a weak hand and lovingly stroked the damp cheek with tiny fingers.

“Thorin Oakenshield, you really are impossible. I never left.” Bilbo snuggled into the king. “I was right here.”

“So was I. We shall return to Erebor as soon as you are well enough to make such a journey. There, you will be honoured above any other.” Thorin kissed Bilbo tenderly. His lips now flushed with warmth and colour. “May I have an answer now? Marry me. I want to spend my life showing you how precious you are to me. If you’ll still have me.”

“If I’ll still have you.” Bilbo slapped Thorin hard before he realised he was crying too. “Idiot. Yes! A hundred times, yes. Nothing would make me happier.” Bilbo suddenly remembered the words of Yavanna. He bit his lip and swallowed hard. “But first there’s something I really need to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. Sasakhabiya abnâmul : You look beautiful  
> Kh. Ȋmri zaizi : Take me with you  
> Kh. Maralmizu : I love you  
> Kh. Kimê : My One


	37. Secrets

**37\. Secrets**

Bilbo soon found himself surrounded by many voices that only made his head swim now he was completely overcome with emotion. Thorin felt the hobbit sway and gathered Bilbo up in his arms again before he had chance to say anything more. Sweet words of Yavanna still ringing in his pointed ears.

“Well. Bless my beard.” Gandalf appeared as if by magic (which it probably was). Leaning on his staff with his bright eyes twinkling. “I see you have found your way back to us.”

“Gandalf.” Bilbo beamed at the wizard, happy memories making his eyes fill up again. “How I’ve missed you. It all feels like I was stuck in a horrible nightmare, but thank you. Thank you for everything.” Bilbo reached for the comfort of Thorin’s thick fingers, but the king started in surprise. “What’s the matter?”

“Your hand. It is warm.” Thorin held on like he never wanted to let go. Remembering how easily he could have lost Bilbo forever. “It has felt so cold during these long nights.”

“Thorin.” Bilbo whispered quietly. Imagining how lonely and desolate those nights must have been. Bilbo was desperate to get the dwarf on his own, and not just for his conversation.

“Forgive me, 'ibinê.” Thorin shook his head, braids dangling low. “For a moment, I thought I lost you.” His face was suddenly masked by a dark shadow despite the bliss now swelling in his heart.

“For a moment, I think you did.” Bilbo pressed a chaste kiss to Thorin’s mouth. “I swear I’ll never leave you again.” He really wanted to share his happy news with the king before someone noticed his little bump. “But we need to talk, Thorin. It’s important.”

“Bunny.” Thorin gave Bilbo another suffocating cuddle. All hands and warmth. Too consumed by studying the contours of Bilbo’s face to think of anything beyond that perfect smile. “I am sure it can wait.”

“If he manages to survive much longer.” Gandalf warned, but there was laughter in his voice. “Let the poor hobbit breathe, Thorin.” The dwarf reluctantly released his hold, but Bilbo wriggled closer anyway. “Go fetch Lady Dís. She has travelled many leagues to meet your consort.”

Thorin had all but forgotten anyone else existed now his hobbit was back, and they smiled softly at each other. Delicate cuff around Bilbo’s ankle shining bright again in the glow of candles that had now been relit. Thorin eventually set Bilbo down and went to find his sister. Bilbo missed his presence before the sound of Dwarven boots had even melted away, but so much majestic attention only made him feel shaky again. He was already fit to burst, terrified what Thorin would make of it all when he found out the patter of little Dwobbit feet would soon be padding through Erebor. He started twisting his hands together in his lap. The wizard leaned in close.

“You need no longer be afraid, Bilbo. A great shadow has passed, and we are all safe and sound.”

“What happened? It all seems so dim, somehow. It still does.”

“Yes, it would. You were beginning to fade, my remarkable friend. But Elrond has healed you, and Thorin refused to leave your side. The curse had almost reached your heart. A few more days without the Athelas and you would have been beyond our aid. But there is another power that walked this world before Elf sang or hammer rang. I suspect you had some divine help, but that can be our little secret.”

“I think I saw the Goddess.” Bilbo hummed a sigh of happiness at the memory of her golden orchard. “Oh, and she was lovely, Gandalf. I can’t imagine anywhere more beautiful than that, but the only place I really wanted to be was here.” Bilbo fell silent, one hand suddenly resting on his tummy. Tears sparked in his eyes again. “Well, for Thorin really. But I believe there is another reason I was sent back. I just wish I could talk to him.”

“Patience, dear boy.” Gandalf patted Bilbo’s shoulder with a knowing wink, grey bristles twitching with delight. “I imagine Lord Elrond will command a feast in honour of your return to us. There will be time for news later. All of it.”

“Oh.” Bilbo murmured softly. Gandalf had that look he always had when he knew more about something than he made out. “Alright.”

All Bilbo wanted was a bit of peace and quiet, but everyone seemed determined to constantly interrupt that since the second his eyes flickered open. He saw a familiar dwarf hovering nervously in the shadows, and Bilbo gasped in a breath of alarm. He wasn’t ready. Fíli stared at the conscious hobbit in dumb silence until his mangled senses returned to normal.

“Bilbo.” Fíli stammered, not sure what to say. “When Thorin asked me to see if you wanted anything, I thought he must have lost it. It’s so good to see you awake.” The dwarf coloured up when their eyes met, and Bilbo could feel his own cheeks flush warm in response when he remembered those intimate whispers in the dark. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Bilbo smiled back. “I think so.” There were so many things Fíli wanted to say, but now those beautiful eyes were staring back at him in anticipation, he couldn’t think of a single damn one. Faint shards of childhood memories suddenly ripped at his conscience and filled him with guilt. His uncle teaching him how to master the skill of a blade, reading him bedtime stories until he fell asleep next to Kíli on a bed of furs. Thorin loved that little hobbit, and no honourable Dwarf had any right to try and come between them. No matter how much Fíli wanted to feel that sweet body pressed up against him. Bilbo sensed his unhappiness. “Are you?”

Fíli hesitated. Maybe if he just admitted it, all the pain would stop.

“Bilbo - ”

Thorin swept past him when he returned, his sister in tow.

“What is it, Fíli?”

“Nothing. It’s just - ” Fíli stumbled. “You will make sure Bilbo is looked after, won’t you, Uncle? Take care of him like he deserves.”

“Do you doubt that?” Thorin glared at his nephew. He hardly recognised the boy these days. All brooding sighs and long walks in the forest. “He is my intended, Fíli. That commands nothing but the highest honour.”

“That’s not what I asked you. He still needs rest, Uncle. I’m not going to let you drag him half way across Middle-earth just because you want him back in the Mountain.”

“Fíli.” Thorin frowned at him. “I am eager to return home so we may be wed and I will not allow anyone, not even you, to delay that. Do you understand?”

Fíli struggled to look Thorin in the eye, and dipped his head. Dís reached out to touch her son but he pulled free.

“Yes, Uncle. I understand.” Fíli dared one last longing glance at the hobbit. Bilbo pressed his lips together and attempted a little smile of sympathy before turning his face away.

“Come, then.” Gandalf managed to diffuse the awkward moment in his own inimitable style. “We are all friends here, or should be. Elrond will request your presence this evening, Bilbo. There will soon be feasting and merrymaking in celebration of your victory against the shadow. You and Thorin will be there in places of honour.”

Even the promise of food couldn’t stop his heart from sinking. _Would he ever get Thorin alone?_

“Bilbo.” Thorin’s hard features softened when he turned to the hobbit. “Here is someone who wants to meet you.”

“I guessed you were awake.” Dís smiled at him. The lamps of Elrond’s house burned in every window. Graceful halls of Imladris filled with light and song now Bilbo had been returned to the king. “I am so happy for you both.”

Thorin left them alone so they could talk and went in search of Fíli to give him the bollocking he deserved.

“It is very nice to finally meet you, Lady Dís.” Bilbo said politely.

“Likewise, Bilbo. My son told me you were among the fairest of your race, and now I see he spoke true. How my brother managed to seduce you, Mahâl only knows.”

“Yes. A little too successfully, it seems.” Bilbo smiled to himself. “But it really wasn’t that hard.”

“I do not understand.”

Bilbo almost gave it away, but Hobbit sense stopped him. Thorin should be the first to know.

“Never mind.”

“Many troubles have befallen you, I hear. How do you feel now?”

“I’m alright, I think.” Bilbo blinked, eyes shimmering in the dim light. Dís thought she saw something sad behind them. “I am no longer cold.”

“Thorin told me a little, but I cannot imagine being at the mercy of such a dark power. It must have been terrible.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t recommend it.” Bilbo shrugged. “Not unless being unconscious is your idea of a good time.”

Dís laughed, taking two little Hobbit hands in her own.

“I can see why they are so taken with you.”

“They?” Bilbo frowned.

“Thorin.” Dís corrected. “I meant Thorin.”

“I am rather fond of him, you know.” Bilbo replied, a shy smile touching his lips. He had never seen a female Dwarf in his life, and probably never would again. She was so like Thorin, Bilbo warmed to her at once.

“I do not doubt it. You are a new people and a new world to me.” Dís sighed, but she was smiling. “I was actually planning on interrogating you, but now I see my brother so happy, it does not matter. And if you still wish to wed with Thorin, you have my blessing, Master Baggins.”

“Thank you.”

Bilbo suddenly felt the strong grip slip up the back of his hands and clamp around his wrists.

“Bilbo. I believe Fíli also cares very deeply for you. I have seen it in his face when he speaks your name.” Bilbo had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that. “I will say no more. I know your heart belongs to my brother, but please do not hurt my son any more than you must.”

“Never.” Bilbo said sincerely. “Your boys are both very dear to me.”

Bilbo let Thorin carry him to their chambers that night after the fire in the Great Hall had died down to ashes. High on the familiar scent of earth and testosterone that slinked into his senses like a velvet promise. Not realising just how much he had missed the soft comfort of Thorin’s embrace until he was returned to it. Thorin carefully set him down when they crossed the threshold, but Bilbo straightened up too quickly and suddenly felt terribly sick. He retched and took in a few deep breaths to try and steady himself.

“Are you alright?” Thorin’s brow was furrowed with concern, beautiful lilt of his voice a sound Bilbo once feared he would never hear again.

“I’m fine.” Bilbo reassured him, reaching out to take the offered hand with a sappy smile. Being reunited with his king had somehow turned this brave little hobbit into a heap of sentimental mush. “I’ve just been trying to tell you something.”

“I am sorry, my love. But so much has happened this day. What is it?” Bilbo sat down on the bed, fidgeting with the little bead still fastened in his hair. The blue gaze met his own with so much intensity, Bilbo had no idea where to start and just blurted it out in a rush of air.

“We’re going to have a baby.”

Thorin’s mouth dropped open.

“What?”

“I know it sounds impossible, but we are. Here.” Bilbo took one of Thorin’s hands, lifted up his shirt and laid a rough palm against the skin of his stomach. Nothing happened for so long, Bilbo was starting to feel a bit awkward, but then something fluttered beneath the king’s fingertips. Faint, but strong.

“Bilbo - ” Thorin dissolved into a stumbling mess. Kissing the hobbit all over until Bilbo had to beg him to stop. He stared down at the round bump in amazement. “How?”

“Thorin.” Bilbo scowled at him, flushed pink to the tips of his ears.

“No. I know _how_.” The king caressed the babe with a look of absolute devotion. “But _how_?”

Bilbo laughed and covered Thorin’s hand with his own.

“I’m not sure you would believe me, if I told you. I can’t quite believe it myself, to be honest.” Bilbo shifted around and curled up in Thorin’s lap. “But in my heart, I believe it was meant to be.” The hobbit suddenly remembered walking through orange groves with blossom falling on his upturned face. “Let’s just call it a gift.”

“I will call it much more than that.” Thorin murmured the words against Bilbo’s skin when he leaned in to kiss him again. Bilbo could see damp trails of happy tears sliding down the king’s cheeks. “It is everything.”

“Really? You’re not mad?” Bilbo screwed up one eye. “It’s a lot of responsibility, Thorin.”

“There could be nothing I have ever wanted more.” Thorin smiled. “Except your heart, my little hobbit. Except your heart.”

“You stole that a long time ago.” Bilbo whispered. “But I think I'm going to let you keep it. I wish you could have been there, Thorin. Walking with me in that place where time is not counted, and even the most perfect gems under your precious Mountain are surpassed by its beauty.”

Thorin’s smile spread wide. None of that mattered now. Bilbo was home.

“You make me regret that I have not seen it.”

“Maybe one day you will.” Bilbo petted Thorin’s hand. “But not yet.”

Thorin jumped up when the revelation finally sunk in. Not sure who he wanted to tell first.

“Bilbo. You know what this means? It means - ”

“Thorin?” Bilbo reached for the king before he hit the floor. “Oh, dear. Put your head between your knees.”

Elrond found Fíli settled in the grass beneath the terraces after the feast was over. His absence noted by many. Thorin not the least. He was sitting cross-legged with a carven fiddle wedged on one shoulder. Completely unaware he was no longer alone and making such enchanting music, Elrond would never have believed it possible from a dwarf unless he had seen it with his own eyes. Clear notes skimming away into the night air like a sorrowful lament.

“You have as much skill with that as you do with a blade.” Fíli looked up, stray shafts of fading light picking out the golden twists in his hair. “You were not at the celebration. Are you still concerned for Bilbo?”

“I’m sure he’ll be alright now he has Thorin.”

Elrond didn’t miss the raw pain that flickered across his face.

“You care for him.” The elf said slowly, realisation dawning. “As one friend would care for another?” Fíli said nothing, but his silence revealed more than words ever could. Tears suddenly streamed down his face, but he did not rub them away. Elrond rested one hand on Fíli’s shoulder. “There is no better land than this to heal the wounds in your heart, Master Dwarf. Small comfort may you find in Imladris for the true nature of your sadness, but you are very welcome to stay here and forget a while your grief.”

 _Stay_. Fíli set the fiddle down and looked out across the moonlit valley through bleary eyes. Maybe he could stay. Spare himself the heartache of watching the hobbit he loved marry someone else. His gaze was drawn back to the safety of the Last Homely House. Watching Elrond walk away until he was swallowed up by a haze of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. 'Ibinê : My gem


	38. Loyalty, Honour And A Willing Heart

**38\. Loyalty, Honour And A Willing Heart**

Bilbo had somehow managed to wrestle a rather limp Thorin onto the bed and almost put his back out in the process. The king was still conscious, at least. Bilbo convinced himself that was a good sign and climbed up to lay by his side, breathless and panting.

“Are you alright?” Bilbo asked slowly. “You’re heavier than you look, you know.”

“I think so.” Thorin let one hand rest on his pounding heart, just to make sure. “I never expected. I mean - ” Bilbo had to concede that news must have been quite a lot to take in. Knowing the king didn’t have much experience in the baby-making department. “I did not believe such a thing was possible.” Bilbo could sense the throbbing heat when Thorin shuffled closer. Suspecting it wasn’t so much for comfort, and more like he wanted to get in some practice for another one.

“I thought you felt dizzy.” The hobbit spared a suspicious glance over one shoulder. “Stop pawing, Thorin.”

“I cannot.” Thorin replied. So low and seductive, Bilbo felt his body give a little twitch of want. “It feels so good to have you in my bed again.” Thorin hummed his contentment while he nibbled at the tip of Bilbo’s ear. The hobbit felt something hard press against his bum.

“You’re supposed to be in shock.” Bilbo smacked the roaming hands away. “Behave, Thorin. Don’t you think that bloody thing has caused enough trouble?” He felt Thorin laugh softly against his neck when one hand wandered a bit lower. Bilbo tutted and settled on his back.

“No.” Thorin slid his hand across Bilbo’s hip like he wanted to touch his belly again just to make sure it was real. “I think it is the most wonderful thing in the world.” Thorin stroked possessive fingers in small circles over Bilbo’s stomach.

“Do you really?” Bilbo turned to face the dwarf. Honesty was reflected in his eyes.

“I do. It has made me very happy and I intend to shower you in waterfalls of gold when we return home.”

Bilbo could feel his eyes start to sting again.

“I never cared much for gold or jewels, Thorin. I have everything I ever wanted right here.” Bilbo burrowed his little nose into the strong chest. It brought him a feeling of peace and safety he never found anywhere else. Bilbo let Thorin grope all the bits he could reach.

“So you told me once before. But my heart is more than willing to grant anything you desire in return for giving me this precious lump.” Thorin carefully slinked the other arm around Bilbo so his hands were locked protectively over his baby.

“Lump?” Bilbo gasped, in dismay.

“It is a perfect lump to me.”

“Such a sweet talker.” Bilbo relaxed a little. “Which is exactly how you got me like this in the first place.” He smiled against Thorin’s jerkin where his face was squished up against it. “I know it sounds silly, but you always make me feel like nothing in the world could ever hurt me again when I’m with you.”

“Nor will it. Not while I have a single breath left in my body." Thorin suddenly grabbed Bilbo and pulled him close so they were pressed up against each other. “I need to tell my sister. She will be very excited that I am to have an heir at last.”

“You already have one, Thorin.” Bilbo said quietly. “You shouldn’t be so quick to take that away from him. Does Dís not want her son to rule Erebor one day?”

“Perhaps. But I am very concerned about Fíli. He had no right to start questioning my motivation to return you to the Mountain. I do not know what more I can do to lift his spirits, or why he seems determined to be so wilful since he returned from Ered Luin.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, my love.” Bilbo felt his stomach lurch again at the mere mention of his name. “He’s a good boy.”

The king knew Bilbo was fond of his nephews, but that comment bothered Thorin a little more than it should.

“You defend him?”

“It’s not about that, Thorin.” Bilbo placated. “Maybe he just has something on his mind.” The hobbit could guess well enough exactly why Fíli had ducked off the imperial radar. Bilbo still didn’t understand the incentive for that little confession, but they really needed to talk. Thorin just grunted. Still sore that one of his own was a spectacular no-show at a feast prepared in their honour. The hobbit felt terrible for Fíli, but unrequited love wasn’t something Bilbo could really share with his intended. He found it all a bit overwhelming and sniffled into Thorin’s beard. “Sorry.” Bilbo mumbled. “I don’t think I can help it.”

Thorin was eyeing him closely from beneath a wayward brow.

“You do seem very emotional lately.”

Bilbo sighed. He never really expected anything less. Dwarves had about as much sensitivity as a chunk of granite.

“They’re called hormones, Thorin. I would get used to it, if I were you.”

The king wondered if hysterical meltdowns were normal for an expectant Hobbit.

“Oh. And this is usual?” Bilbo couldn’t see his face, but he knew Thorin was frowning.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been pregnant before.”

“And tetchy.”

“Do you want to make out, or don’t you?” Bilbo said hotly. “Because quite frankly, Thorin Oakenshield, right now all I want to do is slap you.”

“Make out? What does this mean?”

Bilbo couldn’t resist the temptation anymore and straddled Thorin’s lap. Smoothing the long braids from his shoulders before leaning in to kiss him deep.

“I’ll show you.”

It was late morning by the time they made their way into the crisp Rivendell air, refreshed and sated. Bofur and Lindir were sitting together by the pond. Silently watching the silver fish dart in and out of the bubbles. Bofur seemed to be twisting something shiny between his fingers.

“Bilbo!” The dwarf cried in delight, rushing over to hug him. “Don’t you look positively glowing this morning. And what might be the cause of those pink cheeks? As if I didn’t know.” Bofur gave Thorin a knowing wink (which was completely lost on him) and pinched both of said cheeks for good measure.

“Well… erm.” Bilbo blushed even harder and looked to Thorin for inspiration, but the king seemed more interested in the tiny fragments of stone in Bofur’s hand.

“What is that?”

“This is all that’s left of the Arkenstone.” The dwarf opened up his palm. Thorin stared at the familiar shards of crystal in Bofur’s hand. Still spellbound by their light. “Just picked up a few bits of it for safe keeping. You never know when something like that might come in handy.”

Thorin forced himself to look away.

“I do not wish to touch any part of it again, but it was well done. Maybe you could set it in something when we return to Erebor.”

“Ah.” Bofur coughed. “About that. I meant to go back with you. Really, I did. But now I think I want to stay.” Bofur stumbled to correct himself when he crumbled under the burning glare of disappointment. “For a while, at least. I like it here.”

Thorin slowly glanced upwards. Hoping Lindir was tall enough to be out of earshot.

“You like that elf, you mean.”

“That too.” Bofur confessed. “I want to see you and Bilbo get married, 'course I do. Mahâl knows, we’ve all waited for it long enough. I just don’t know where I want to be more. Caught right between my arse and my bollocks, I am.” Not the most articulate way to put it, but it got the point across. “I feel that torn in two.”

“You poor thing.” The hobbit smiled, but Thorin took it personally. Suspecting Bofur wasn’t the only one of his Company that would not be returning home.

“Is every one of my kin to abandon me?” Bilbo slipped his hand in Thorin’s. He was about to argue Bofur’s corner for him, but Lindir came to the rescue.

“I think Lord Elrond may be able to spare me for a few weeks.” The elf placed a slender hand on Bofur’s arm. “If you don’t mind me tagging along.”

“Mind?” Bofur had to make a conscious effort to stop himself from squealing. “You want to come to Erebor? With me?”

Lindir laughed so sincerely, Bofur felt both knees collapse.

“I have heard the halls beneath the Mountain are a marvellous sight, and I have never seen a Dwarven wedding.”

“Oh, you’d be in for a treat, for sure.” Bofur was preening so hard he looked like he might burst.

“Well, that settles it then.” Bilbo beamed with relief, but there was one more thing he had to set right before his happiness was complete.

Dís had been searching for her brother all morning and finally joined them in the courtyard. Thorin was desperate to tell her about the imminent arrival but she seemed so troubled, he held his tongue. Dís begged leave of Bilbo and drew Thorin aside so they could talk in private but she hadn’t reckoned on the radar capabilities of Hobbit ears.

“You must speak with Fíli, Nadad.” Elrond had let it slip what passed between them and now she was very worried for her son. “I expect he thinks you will be angry with him for wanting to stay.”

“Wanting to stay?” Thorin inhaled a shallow breath of disbelief. He had no idea things had got that bad. “He is certainly not himself. I fear this place has bewitched him.”

“I do believe he is bewitched, in truth.” Dís sighed. “But not by Rivendell.”

“What then?” Thorin demanded, clueless as ever. “Does he not share my desire to return to the Mountain?”

Dís shook her head. Maybe she would just have to say it.

“I think deep down he does want you to be happy, Thorin. But you should let him make his own choices without fear of your judgement.”

“Why would I stand by and say nothing when his choices are so reckless?”

“I do not believe this is an impulsive decision. You know how much he has been brooding lately. In fact.” Dís added. “He reminds me often of you. And if he wants to stay for a while, then let him. It may help to heal his heart.”

“I did not know it was aching.” Thorin said honestly. He loved that boy like his own. A broken heart was something he never suspected. “Why would he not want to return to a kingdom he fought so hard to reclaim?”

“Are you really so blind to his pain?” Dís was fiercely protective of her firstborn. She couldn’t bear to think of him feeling so alone. His heart lost to a little hobbit who could never return his affection. “I think he is in love with Bilbo.”

Bilbo had endured quite enough emotion for one day and sought out some Elven advice before they prepared to head back to Erebor. Elrond told him where Fíli might be found, and Bilbo plodded the empty terraces with a heavy heart until he spotted the flaxen hair shining in the sunlight, gently touched by the valley breeze. Fíli was so lost in his lonely thoughts, he never even heard the hobbit approach.

“Hello.” Bilbo said quietly. There didn’t seem much point in whitewashing it. “Can we talk?”

“Bilbo.” Fíli jumped up like a scalded coney, flustered and pink. “If you wish.”

The hobbit inhaled a deep breath of air and courage before sitting down next to him.

“I overheard Thorin and Dís talking. They don’t think you want to go home. But you will come, won’t you?” Bilbo wanted to reach out and touch Fíli’s hand, he looked so forsaken. Nothing but wild hair and sad eyes. “To the wedding, I mean. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Bilbo.” Fíli apologised. “I don’t know if I can.” The dwarf imagined the hobbit must be wondering why he was so insistent on avoiding such an important event in Thorin’s life, but he didn’t have to wait very long. Bilbo stroked the back of one hand.

“I heard you. In the dark, Fíli. I know what you said to me.”

The pathetic puppy eyes were suddenly wide with fear.

“How?” The dwarf stammered. “You were sleeping.”

“I don’t really know how. It felt like I was awake, but somehow I found myself wandering through a dream.”

“I would not have spoken those words if I knew.” Fíli suddenly straightened up his back and set his jaw in wounded defiance. “But I’m not sorry and I won’t take it back.” Then all the air left him, and he seemed to deflate in front of Bilbo’s eyes. “But neither do I wish to come between you and my uncle.”

“I know that, Fíli.” Bilbo nudged him playfully on the shoulder. “I might have even been a little flattered, if I wasn’t so ridiculously in love with Thorin. You know how important you and Kíli are to me. But I promised your mother I would be honest, so I need to say it. I am loyal to my king and I always will be.”

Fíli pretended that didn’t hurt as much as it did, but Bilbo saw the sadness behind his smile.

“I didn’t expect anything else. You are a noble little halfling, Bilbo.”

“And you are an honourable Dwarf.”

“Am I?” Fíli picked at the grass with a bitter laugh, filled with doubt. He suddenly fell silent and couldn’t seem to look the hobbit in the eye. Fíli turned his face away. “There is no honour in the thoughts I have about you.”

“Fíli.” Bilbo gasped. He could imagine just where those fantasies would lead. Straight down a bumpy dirt track with a cesspit at the end. “Please don’t say things like that.”

“I will not lie. Not to you.”

“Then, I must tell you something.” Bilbo thought it was probably a stupendously bad idea to voice it, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He could always blame the prolactin. “If it wasn’t Thorin, I think it would have been you.”

The blue eyes suddenly shot up and held Bilbo’s gaze for a long time. It took Fíli everything he had to look away again.

“Thank you, Bilbo. That lifts my heart a little.”

“Then, you’ll come back to Erebor?”

“All I can promise is to think about it.” Fíli hesitated. Bilbo’s loyalty to the king might drop him in it. “But whatever I decide, swear you won’t tell Uncle Thorin.” The dwarf suddenly went rigid, staring up with wide eyes at the imposing terror now casting a shadow over both of them.

“Tell me what?”

Bilbo swallowed hard, not even realising both of his hands were somehow wrapped up in Fíli’s.

“Thorin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. Nadad : Brother


	39. The Return Of The King

**39\. The Return Of The King**

Bilbo felt a sob spring into his mouth. Small voice almost lost to the deathly hush that hung over them all like a thunder cloud just before it burst.

“How long have you been there?” Bilbo whispered. Thorin couldn’t even look at him. The torment on his face made Bilbo want to cry.

“Long enough.” Thorin stared at his nephew with so much hurt in his eyes, Fíli longed to crawl under a rock. Bilbo expected Thorin to start throwing punches. Storm off in a temper or curse them both out until he ran out of Khuzdûl. Something. But Thorin was just taking in deep breaths to stay a tempest of rage that threatened to surge out. The king said nothing more for a long moment, and that horrible silence was much worse. “Long enough to see you are shamelessly free with your affections.” Bilbo gave in to fragile emotions and shuffled backwards to avoid the icy glare now aimed at Fíli like a dagger. Bilbo clasped both little hands to his mouth and leapt up. Running back towards the safety of Elrond’s house. Fíli called after him, but the hobbit was already scampering back across the valley. Courage left behind in tatters like dew in the grass. “What did you do?” Thorin turned all his venom on his nephew.

“Nothing, I swear.” Fíli suddenly felt very defensive and pushed himself up until he was level with Thorin. In all that passed between them, Bilbo was completely innocent. “I felt sorry for him at first. But then you didn’t even remember who he was, and I wanted to take all that hurt away just to make him smile again. It took months for you to realise how lucky you are to have him.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Thorin retaliated, stunned blue eyes burning. “I was held by a dark shadow, Fíli. Never would I have expected such betrayal from one I have taken to my heart as my own.” Fíli trembled at the pain in Thorin’s voice. “Bilbo is everything to me, and you wish to steal him from my arms?”

“I don’t, Uncle Thorin!” Fíli protested, cheeks burning with shame. Just for a moment he was that little dwarf again who always longed for the king’s approval. “His heart belongs to you completely.”

“And I believed that to be true until I saw his hands entwined with yours.”

“You should not doubt him.” Fíli hung his head, almost reluctant to voice a painful truth. “I vow to you, nothing happened. He is loyal to you, and you alone. Bilbo would never betray you like that.”

Dís was sitting peacefully by the pool with Bofur until they were startled from their reverie by all the shouting. She recognised the two heated voices now drifting through the valley and set off at a pace across the bridge.

“What, in the name of Mahâl, are you doing?” She pulled hard at Thorin’s arm to drag him away before it got physical.

“Maybe you should ask your son.” The king said bitterly. “Unless my faithless eyes deceive me, it seems you were right about his desire for my Bilbo.”

“'Amad?” Fíli looked to his mother with dawning horror. Dís shook her head in despair. Sometimes Thorin really was hopeless.

“I did not say those feelings were returned, Nadad.” Dís gave Fíli a small smile of sympathy. “Witless pride clouds your senses, Thorin. That malkân is loyal beyond the reach of your thought. Do not let such a precious jewel slip through your idiotic hands because you are too stubborn to say sorry. Go and find him.” Thorin bit the inside of his cheek. Dipping his proverbial tail between his legs before stomping off in search of Bilbo. His heart finally stopped hammering by the time he reached their rooms. Choked words lodged in his throat when he saw the traumatised hobbit curled up on the bed, sobbing and shaking. Thorin knelt down by his side and slowly reached out to cosset him. Bilbo recoiled from the touch.

“Amrâlimê.” Thorin murmured, burying his head in both hands. “Forgive me. I do not know what came over me. The thought of losing you was more than my heart could bear.” He was quiet for a long time. Bilbo felt all the hurt slowly melt away and turned to face his king. The hobbit cautiously reached out to run his tiny fingers down one braid.

“Is that truly what you think of me?”

“No. Never.” Thorin snapped his head back up. The pain in Bilbo’s eyes carved a deep scar of regret inside him. “I was just blinded by fear. If I ever lost you - ” Thorin couldn’t find the words to continue and just crumpled into a heap by the bed. Bilbo draped both trembling arms around the dwarf’s neck.

“Thorin.” The king let Bilbo snuggle against him for comfort before gently lifting the hobbit into his arms. Thorin kissed the soft down of his hair and breathed him in. Cursing his own insecurities for ever doubting his love. “Just take me home.”

Bilbo felt a little burst of warmth when the morning came. Fresh and full of promise. All the ponies were readied for the long journey and Thorin insisted they ride the same steed so the king could keep Bilbo safe.

“It is time for us to leave, my friends.” Gandalf said quietly. Grey eyes suddenly drawn across the valley where a solitary dwarf was watching them depart.

“You’re riding back with us?” Bilbo said hopefully. He expected the wizard to rest a while in Imladris before he went wandering again.

“Yes. I beg leave once again to be your companion.”

Bilbo could hardly contain his delight.

“I would have begged you to come, but I thought you intended to stay here with Lord Elrond.”

“Did you, now?” Gandalf said lightly. “Is that how you thought this tale would end? My dear Bilbo, do you really imagine I would miss the best part?”

“Definitely not.” Bilbo smiled back. “I really think stories should have a good ending. So how would this do?” He said thoughtfully. “And they all settled down together and lived happily ever after.”

“It will do very well.” Laughed Gandalf. “I hope it will come to that.” He glanced once again over the secret vale, and Bilbo followed the line of his gaze to see Fíli standing alone on the green slopes with one arm raised in farewell. Bilbo sighed sadly and Thorin said nothing until they were beyond the borders of Rivendell. Taking comfort from a soft little Hobbit hand resting in his own.

The cavernous halls of Erebor resounded with excitement once messengers arrived with news that the king and his hobbit were returning to the Mountain. The many leagues now behind them seemed infinitely longer when Bofur never stopped talking. Once they were in sight of the great statues, he was more animated than ever. Bofur pointed out the significance of every little cut and carving. Happy to explain the intricacies of such an impressive kingdom to anyone who was patient enough to listen. Even Lindir seemed impressed by the stonework and hummed his approval every time the dwarf pointed out a new detail or recited an old tale. Bofur’s heart filled up with hope again. Dazzled by the glint of jade hues picked out by fading shafts of sunlight. Erebor would be great once more now the king had returned.

Thorin rode up to the front gate like a conquering hero. The Mountain was reclaimed, the dark shadow gone, and best of all, he had both arms wrapped around the sweet little hobbit who was carrying a cherished heir Thorin never thought he would have. Many preparations had been made for their arrival and Balin welcomed them in. He made straight for Bilbo, patting him heartily on the back with a smile that made his eyes sparkle.

“So good to see you again, Master Baggins.” The dwarf said warmly. “You look well. If not a little plumper than I remember.”

“Yes. Well. Where’s Dwalin?” Bilbo asked nervously, desperate for any distraction before the old dwarf put two and two together and actually made four. The hobbit secured his peace with Dwalin long ago but of all Thorin’s Company, he was the one Bilbo feared to disappoint most. Without ever really knowing why.

“On the terraces, I think. He usually is.” Balin added, with a strange twinkle in his kind eyes. Bilbo thanked him and hurried past the royal chambers which had stood empty since Thorin left and out to the balcony that wound around one side of the Mountain. When he got to the archway, the hobbit could see Dwalin on his knees in the dirt. Back bent in careful labour. Bilbo burst into tears when he realised what the dwarf was doing.

“My seed garden.” He murmured, in awe.

Dwalin dusted the earth from his huge hands and stood up, rubbing at his neck with grubby fingers. He stared at the freshly tilled earth, cheeks slowly flushing pink when he realised he was caught.

“I just kept an eye on it now and again. What with the last frosts an’ all.” Dwalin mumbled, badass reputation in shreds. Bilbo just blinked at him through misty eyes. “I kept it watered for ye, Bilbo. Made sure it stayed green and growing 'case you ever came home.” Bilbo hugged the speechless dwarf until his eyes stung and his back ached. He had no words to explain how much that simple gesture filled his heart with joy.

Thorin went in search of Óin soon as he reacquainted himself with the ancient home of his fathers. Insisting Bilbo should be checked over just to make sure everything was alright. Thorin shared his astonishing news with Óin, who followed the king to his rooms in a daze of mute confusion. Dori was already inside, plumping up pillows and airing out the linen. He seemed deliriously happy to have a hobbit to smother again. Forcing him to take some tea and point blank refusing to let anyone enter until Bilbo had been thoroughly examined. Thorin was left pacing back and forth just outside the door.

Óin inspected the hobbit with the sort of meticulous prodding that made Bilbo feel decidedly violated. Stripped of both his clothes, and any scrap of dignity he hoped to hang on to.

“Well.” Óin concluded, after some considerable scrutiny. “You are with child.”

“Yes.” Bilbo replied patiently. “I know.” The stunned dwarf looked more shocked than Thorin had. He knew a fair bit about childbirth, but that was way beyond the limits of his gynaecology.

“But you’re a - ”

“Hobbit?” Bilbo tried to finish the sentence for him, suspecting it was rather a lot to take in.

“Actually, I was going to say boy. But probably best not to think about that too hard, lad. When your time comes, being a hobbit will be the least of your problems.”

“Oh.” Bilbo paled. He never really considered the inevitable conclusion. Not much point in sugar-coating how much that was going to hurt.

Dori sensed his rising panic and quickly fussed over Bilbo when he curled up on the bed with a familiar rush of nausea. Pretty sure he was going to throw-up if he had to down one more cup of chamomile.

“I’ll be fine. Honestly, Dori.” Bilbo tried valiantly. “You really don’t need to go to so much trouble.”

“Are you serious?” Dori snorted, scuttling back around the royal bed to collect the tray. “The king would rip off my beard and hang me out to dry if I let anything happen to you or that babe.” Dori fluffed up Bilbo’s pillow again just to make himself look busy. “Oh.” The dwarf clapped his hands together in delight. “A little one running about the Mountain again. Such a thing hasn’t happened here since Thorin was a young prince.”

Bilbo stroked his stomach when he felt a little flutter of movement inside him. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Is it terrible of me to be so blissfully happy?”

“No, Bilbo.” Dori said affectionately. “I think it is everything you deserve.” He wiggled the empty teacup hopefully. The hobbit sank into the soft furs with a sigh while he waited for Thorin to return.

“Alright.” Bilbo conceded defeat. It wasn’t really so bad to be the pampered consort of the sexiest dwarf alive. Might as well embrace it. “Maybe just one more cup.”

Thorin’s first command as reinstated King Under The Mountain was to gather his Company together in the Great Hall. Along with much excitement among the Dwarves and many incoherent whispers loaded with speculation. Dori had dressed Bilbo for the occasion and brushed away a silent tear when they all watched the hobbit come down the steps. Looking every inch the Royal Consort. He was clad in a silver tunic that shone in the candlelight and left little to the imagination. There was no mistaking the way its satiny fabric clung to every curve and a hush fell over the Company as Thorin held out one hand for Bilbo to take. Accompanied by cheers and a suggestive whoop from Nori. The king never felt more proud.

Ori was the first to point out that Fíli was noticeably absent, so Bofur and Kíli both moved closer to Bilbo for support. Knowing the poor hobbit must feel terrible about leaving a broken-hearted dwarf behind in Rivendell. Kíli never really understood the attraction (except for the pointed ears).

Dís felt a stab of pity for her son and gently drew Bilbo to one side.

“I had hoped Fíli would be here. I do not believe he really wants to miss your wedding, but I fear he is too sick at heart to brave it.” Bilbo tried to smile. “The boys were different when they came back to the Blue Mountains.” Dís continued, a faraway look in her eyes. Bilbo shivered. Despite returning from the cold grip of death, their last moments would forever haunt his dreams. “And though I hold you blameless in this, I did not notice my son was touched by any frost until he first looked on you.”

“Yes.” Bilbo said sadly. “And I am very sorry for it. I wish there was something I could do to make it right. He deserves to be happy.” The hobbit suddenly gasped in a breath when a forgotten memory hit him so hard, it felt like he was stuck between a hammer and an anvil. “Actually.” Bilbo added slowly. Bright eyes glinting with a spark of genius. “I think I have an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. 'Amad : Mother  
> Kh. Nadad : Brother  
> Kh. Amrâlimê : Love of mine/My love


	40. Mereth-Nuin-Giliath

**40\. Mereth-Nuin-Giliath**

Dís had been studying Bilbo so intently, he could feel himself start to fold under the pressure. She had a gaze that could rival Thorin.

“I suspect there is something else Thorin has not told me. Are all Hobbits usually so full around the middle, Bilbo?” Apparently, they shared the same Durin mark of subtlety. Dís had not missed the gleam of happiness in her brother’s eyes, or the protective way Thorin cradled Bilbo with his huge arms. Both palms always coming to rest on his belly. The hobbit suddenly blushed and looked away.

“No, my lady.” Bilbo replied quietly.

Dís gently pushed the silky material aside and smoothed one hand over Bilbo’s stomach. Back in Hobbiton, any sensible halfling would be outraged by such intimate contact without a single word of consent. But here in the Lonely Mountain he had taken as his home, Bilbo didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Kíli once hinted a malkân could grow anything.” She said slowly. “Are you?”

“Yes.” Bilbo whispered, biting at his lip. “But we haven’t really told anyone yet, so when Thorin makes the announcement, please try and look surprised.”

Dís gasped in a soft breath, her expression a study in wonder.

“That would explain why my brother has had such a stupid look on his face for days. Besides.” Dís added, mouth melting into a wide smile when she tugged at the hem of Bilbo’s tunic. “This is so tight, I don’t think anyone is going to be surprised.” Dís laughed, and hugged Bilbo to her breast. “But I’ll do my best.” Thorin appeared at her side and led the hobbit away by one hand, lifting him up on to the dais with a tenderness few had ever seen. The king bowed before him, dropping to one knee while Bilbo stared down at him in startled anticipation.

“Bilbo.” Thorin murmured, reaching for him again. “I have called my kin here for a purpose. I want every one of my people to know that you have long held my heart in your keeping. Though I feared to say this until I thought I had lost you forever. I have loved you since the moment I first saw you, Kimê. Izulê.” Bilbo squirmed at the sound of whispered Khuzdûl, a ripple of desire slinking down his spine. The hobbit gripped Thorin’s fingers a little tighter to fight off the arousal. “But now you openly wear my token of betrothal, it always seems to me that a bright star has descended below the earth to light the very darkest corners of the Mountain.”

“Thorin.” Bilbo said softly, suddenly shy and speechless. Dís was not the only dwarf there to feel tears bud in both eyes. The king turned to his loyal Company. Most were waiting to hear something they already guessed.

“Bilbo and I shall be troth-plighted here before you all. By our custom, the wedding shall be in seven days. And this is well, for we cannot wait much longer.” Thorin smiled down at Bilbo with a fond expression, blue eyes warm and soft. “I have something to tell you all that has filled my heart with more happiness than I ever thought possible.” He lifted Bilbo’s hand for official presentation while Dís held on to Balin for support and prepared to look astounded. “Mahâl has granted us a blessing beyond price. Bilbo carries the heir to the line of Durin.” Gasps of bewildered disbelief were soon replaced by loud cheers that echoed through the halls of Erebor when Thorin captured Bilbo’s mouth in a kiss to seal their bond forever. “May it never be broken.”

Thorin carried Bilbo to their rooms after the merrymaking. Making sure he was safely tucked up in bed and swathed in more luxurious furs than was even remotely necessary. Thorin could just see his little nose peeking out above the wrappings. Now the news was out, the king could barely contain his excitement. He lay down next to the hobbit and let out a blissful sigh.

“That went well, I think.” Thorin said, with some satisfaction. Unable to stop his fingers from reaching out to trace every curve. “Not often does my sister shed a tear. When will it arrive?”

“Thorin.” Bilbo glared at him. “It’s not a bloody package out for delivery. I don’t know why you keep asking me for answers. I never heard of a boy having a baby before.” Thorin just smiled and leaned in to steal another kiss. Making a determined effort to show limitless patience now those hormone things Bilbo told him about seemed to be making a play for dominance. “Sorry.” Bilbo gave in to the demands of his emotions and curled into the strong embrace. Maybe he was a bit sensitive lately, but that graphic image of pushing out a dwobbit was now seared into his psyche. It would be just his luck that the poor thing inherited Thorin’s ears. “I’m not sure how long until - ” Bilbo swallowed hard. “Well. I have some time to prepare myself, I think. It must have happened in Rivendell, so I can’t be more than a couple of months at most.”

“May I touch it?” Thorin said unexpectedly. He never asked for permission before.

“Well, it is yours.” Bilbo answered, and the king frowned. Not sure if that was consent or not. Bilbo pulled at both braids to drag the dwarf closer. “Yes, Thorin. You may.” The king draped a possessive arm around him and let his head rest on Bilbo’s tummy with a hum of serenity. Thorin would have happily stayed there for the rest of his life. Cuddled up to a warm hobbit and listening to the muffled echoes of a heartbeat.

“I would do anything for you, Kimê.”

“I have everything I need right here.” Bilbo murmured contentedly. Then he suddenly remembered his plan to bring Fíli some happiness of his own. “Wait. Do you think you could get me some parchment and an ink pot?” Bilbo yawned and sat up. Thorin knew the hobbit was trying to learn Khuzdûl and Angerthas in between cups of chamomile and increasingly regular trips to the privy. Suspecting Bilbo had a very specific reason for doing so. Thorin always saw the effect their language had on him, but he kept those lustful thoughts locked away for now. Intending to use it to his advantage after the wedding and keep Bilbo up all night. Planning to surprise his Consort with a special gift he was crafting in secret.

“Anything you desire, bunny. Do you wish to practice?”

“Actually.” Bilbo smiled to himself. “I need to write a very important letter.”

Elrond cornered Fíli on the second morning after the Dwarves were gone. He often caught him kicking up the ground with his boots while desperate eyes trailed after the Company as if Fíli could somehow see the peak of the Lonely Mountain in the distance. Elrond deliberately moved in to settle next to him.

“You regret your decision to stay here. I see it in your face.”

“No.” Fíli gently shook his head, searching for something elusive in the grass as a distraction. “Sorrow maybe. But not regret. I wanted Bilbo to know how much I care for him. I just don’t think I can bear to watch him marry my uncle.” The blue eyes were pale and lifeless when the dwarf finally looked up. Full of helpless despair. “Not that any of it matters now. He is beyond my reach.”

“Not necessarily.” Elrond said, gaze suddenly drifting to the hidden pass. “I have a wedding gift that I wish to deliver myself. You are welcome to ride with me, if you will.” Elrond saw the flicker of hope in Fíli’s eyes, but he said nothing in reply. “I understand the depth of your sadness, but Bilbo is a gentle soul and you should wish him well if you truly love him.”

“I do.” Fíli murmured. Elrond rested the tips of his fingers on the back of the dwarf’s hands where they were clasped tightly together in his lap. Painfully reminded of what it was like to lose someone who held the very essence of your heart.

“Then, I can think of nothing that would honour that love more than to share in his happiness.”

Bilbo couldn’t believe his eyes when he wandered out to the terraces one morning to see Elrond and some of his house standing outside the front gate. The hobbit rushed out of the royal chambers and pelted down the many steps to meet him with much tutting emanating from Dori. Bilbo was so pleased to see him, he almost fell into Elrond’s arms.

“Well met, Bilbo.” Elrond greeted him with a warm smile. “Lindir sent word that you were to be married in a few days, and I understand young Legolas Greenleaf now has a place of honour by Thorin’s side.”

“Legolas.” Bilbo smiled back, soft and respectful. “Yes, and it is well deserved. He cared for me when I was all alone in Mirkwood. Thorin named him a Dwarf-friend, and apparently that means we have to do something expensive to acknowledge it.”

“I was surprised to learn he tarried here. Elves do not like Mountains.”

Bilbo laughed.

“And Hobbits prefer holes in the ground, but this is more of a home to me than anything I have ever known. Legolas just seems to have settled here since we came back. I don’t think I could have got through it all without him. It would be a blessing indeed to have him stay for the ceremony.”

“And that is the purpose of my arrival. I could not hope to keep you in Imladris, but I thought maybe we could bring the celebrations to you. I trust you are feeling much better now you are home.”

“Oh, Elrond.” Bilbo sighed happily. “I don’t know how to explain it. I feel like Spring after Winter. Like sun on the leaves and everything I ever wanted, all at once.”

“I am glad for you, Bilbo.” Elrond said honestly. “Yestarë will soon be upon us, and Elves need no excuse for a feast.”

“I really expected Thorin to wait a little longer before sending out the invitations. I would have been happy with a modest affair but he seems set on emptying the treasure vault to pay for it. It feels like a fitting end to my adventure.”

Elrond suddenly took Bilbo’s hand in his and kissed it.

“This is not the end, my friend. It is the beginning.” Bilbo could only blink up at him through misty eyes. “We should honour the Valar for helping to free you from the clutches of that dark spirit I shall not name. Gandalf implied Yavanna and Aulë had given you a divine gift, and now I see my visions proved true. If Thorin allows, Mereth-nuin-Giliath will be prepared in your honour to call on Elbereth. We have many feasts under the stars, Bilbo. But this one will be to wish your union sanctified by the light of Eärendil, our most beloved star.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Bilbo was left breathless by such a beautiful thought. “Thank you.”

By early evening, the Elven host had prepared a banquet just outside the gate. Many places had been set for all in attendance. Dwarves and Elves alike. Thorin looked magnificent in his black and gold raiment. Bilbo would be seated on his right, Legolas at his left. Fresh Spring air drifted in on a distant breeze, and lanterns hung from every budding branch that lined the pathway beyond the bridge. It looked like the heart of Rivendell had come alive in Erebor. Legolas was duly honoured as Bâhukhazâd. Thorin decreed the elf had more than proven his worth as a friend of Dwarves (and a Hobbit). Hoping to finally renew peace between the Mountain and the Wood for as long as they both should endure.

After such impressive but exhausting company, Bilbo sensed the need for a blast of night air. He still felt terrible about leaving Fíli behind. Aimlessly searching for somewhere he could be alone to clear his head, a myriad of stars twinkling above him. Bright sparks of divine light scattered in the clear sky like sparks in a gale.

“Good evening, Master Hobbit.” Elrond shook Bilbo free of disordered thoughts. He always seemed to pop up when someone needed a bit of sage advice. “I feared you were in danger of getting lost.” Elrond could see Bilbo was still troubled. “Did you like Mereth-nuin-Giliath?”

“It was perfect.” Bilbo hummed, still gazing up at the midnight blue of a cloudless sky. “I never thought I would ever be so happy. For the first time in my life, I feel like I actually belong somewhere.”

“Indeed.” Elrond replied. “I have waited long for you to be at peace, Bilbo. Surrounded by everyone you love.”

“Not quite everyone.” Bilbo sighed, happiness instantly marred by a memory of the heartache he left behind. “Thorin doesn’t say it in words, but I know he longs to make it right with Fíli. And despite everything that was said between us, I wish he was here.”

“That is what I told him you would say.” Elrond smiled, and took the hobbit’s hand to draw him away from the light. Someone was waiting in the dark cover of the trees. Not entirely sure he would be welcome. “Come, Bilbo. Here is someone you have missed.” Bilbo staggered after Elrond in confusion, but all mystery was swept away when they reached the edge of the path. He would have known those braids anywhere.

“Fíli!” Bilbo cried in delight, when a cloaked figure stepped out from the shadows. “I knew you would come.” Bilbo closed his eyes and leaned in to cuddle him. Fíli felt his heart pound with want, but he managed to stop both hands from wandering. “What made you change your mind?”

“You.” Fíli breathed quietly. “Though you knew it not.”

“I don’t understand.”

“After you left, I kept thinking about something I said to Uncle Thorin.” Fíli added, longing to hold Bilbo close to show the hobbit just how much he had missed those doe eyes and rosy cheeks. Subconscious desire to be protected and cared for only one of the many reasons why he had been so drawn to Bilbo in the first place. The tranquil perfection of Rivendell had made Fíli understand what it was like to love someone enough to let them go. “To see you happy. It was all I ever really wanted.” Bilbo murmured the dwarf’s name. Hushed breath almost lost to emotion. “Are you truly content?”

“Now, I am.” Bilbo rested his head on Fíli’s shoulder. “Welcome home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. Kimê : My One  
> Kh. Izulê : My only  
> Qu. Yestarë : First Day/The Elven New Year  
> Si. Mereth-nuin-Giliath : Feast Under Stars/The Feast of Starlight  
> Qu. Eärendil : Lover of the Sea  
> Kh. Bâhukhazâd : Friend of Dwarves


	41. Bonded By Blood

**41\. Bonded By Blood**

Bilbo finally dragged his little body away from the soft pelt that lined Fíli’s jacket and took the dwarf by the hand.

“Bilbo.” Fíli hesitated. Probably not the best idea to return to the Mountain with their fingers threaded together. “Maybe you should go back first. I don’t want to give Uncle any ideas.”

“Please don’t worry about Thorin.” Bilbo reassured. “I know he’s missed you just as much as I have.”

“Really? I thought he wanted to hack my braids off after what happened in Rivendell.” Fíli suddenly looked conscience-stricken. “And I do not blame him. If you were mine, I would protect you with my life.” Bilbo felt himself melt under the hypnotic blue gaze that pierced his own.

“Thorin trusts me.” Bilbo deliberately turned his face away. Despite the unexpected flutter of his heart when Fíli stared at him with so much desire, the king’s faith in that loyalty was not misplaced. Bilbo was too excited about the upcoming wedding to let it linger long in his thoughts. Fíli was here to make his peace, and that sent a surge of warm happiness singing through the hobbit’s chest.

They found Balin pacing the Great Hall when they made it back inside the Mountain. Dictating Thorin’s requests while poor Ori jotted it all down as fast as his little quill would let him. Bofur and some of the Company had apparently volunteered to support the old dwarf. Purely in a supervisory capacity and much to Balin’s annoyance. Bofur ran over and hugged them both in turn before dragging Bilbo into the middle of the cavernous chamber by his shirt tail. Bofur judged himself to be more savvy than the rest of them put together, and planning was now at critical since Thorin insisted on getting everything ready in a few days. Balin was muttering away about the drawbacks of being mentor to such an impulsive young dwarf.

Bilbo supposed it was relative.

“Bilbo.” Balin finally turned his attention to the hobbit. “You can help with some of the arrangements, if you like. We usually throw a bachelor party before the wedding but tributes only for the bride.” Bilbo squinted at him.

“Ah. Consort, in your case, lad.” Balin was going for diplomacy, but Bilbo long since resigned himself to playing the girl. Never a match for Thorin in presence, or virility. “Sorry, Bilbo. I meant no offence.” On the plus side, tradition meant he would receive many gifts. Bilbo had no need for anything now he was betrothed to Thorin, but the Dwarves insisted. Bofur was already making something special in the forge for the big day. Not a particularly well-kept secret that every one of the Company had set to crafting or whittling something for the hobbit to welcome him as one of their own.

“Another party?” Bilbo asked in amazement. “But we just had one. I swear the cellar will be nothing but an empty shell by the time all this is done.”

“It _is_ a royal wedding, boy.” Balin reprimanded. Bilbo felt a headache start to develop behind his eyes. All this attention to detail and dedication to customs he would never understand made his head swim.

“Sorry.” Bilbo muttered, suddenly feeling even smaller than usual. Balin’s glare flickered away to nothing when he realised that might have been a bit harsh. Maybe the stress was staring to get to him.

“Don’t take it to heart, lad. But Durin marriages don’t happen very often, and Thorin wants to impress you. Prove he’s good breeding stock.”

“Seriously?” Bilbo glanced down. “Don’t you think that argument is now a little redundant?”

“Hmm.” Balin was still struggling to get his head around Thorin doing anything naked. “Point taken. I just want everything to go right for him.” Balin added. “He waited so long to find his One.” The old dwarf had tears in his eyes. “You really are very lucky, Bilbo. Technically, entering azlâf' with anyone of a different race is prohibited by Dwarven laws. Thorin must have changed it.”

Bilbo felt a sharp prick of alarm. All he ever wanted was to be accepted, but not by cheating.

“He changed a Dwarven law? Just for me.” Bilbo stammered. “Surely that’s forbidden.”

“Being King has its advantages, I suppose.” Bofur shrugged. “Not one of us would stand in his way if it means you get your happy ending, Bilbo.” Bofur smiled fondly at him. “Might ask him to slip in a clause about making it compulsory to marry an Elf.”

“You wish.” Bilbo grinned back.

“Nah. I’m happy just to impress him with my limitless knowledge of how to dig up rocks.”

Thorin heard the ring of Bilbo’s laughter resonate from every rafter when he came to see how Balin was getting on. Sound of his happiness flooding the dark tunnels beneath the earth with light. Dís was shadowing her brother like they were glued together now he had royal duties to perform, but Thorin suddenly stopped dead when he saw his nephew standing close to the hobbit. His heart stuttered in his chest.

“Fíli.” Thorin said seriously. Moving in close and searching his face for some hint of desire to repair the damage between them. Fíli’s love for Bilbo had ripped at his ancestral honour.

“Uncle Thorin.” Fíli bowed his head respectfully. “I hope you can forgive me. It was never my intention to hurt someone who has been as a father to me.” Thorin was careful not to let the emotion show in his eyes. That blatant attraction to Bilbo had shaken his fealty but Fíli was blood, and Thorin could not let that go so easily. “And if you are willing, I would very much like to be here when you wed Bilbo.”

Thorin took in a breath so deep, Bilbo prepared himself for a tirade but it didn’t come. The king’s eyes creased up at the corners when he smiled.

“I think.” Thorin said slowly. “That would make Bilbo very happy.” Bilbo kissed Thorin’s cheek and murmured a soft word of thanks. “With that settled.” Thorin continued, rather pleased with himself that the hobbit was now gazing up at him with grateful devotion. “We must make preparations. There should be a feast of seven days after the date of abkân is announced. Elrond suggested we could extend Mereth-Nuin-Giliath.”

“That’s a wonderful idea." Bilbo agreed. “I love the stars and I'm very happy here. But I miss my garden. I would really like to honour Yavanna for giving us the baby. Maybe I could plant some special saplings in memory of her golden orchard.”

“Dwalin saved you a space in the seed garden. Said you would want to plant something in the Spring.” Balin shook his head. He hardly recognised his brother since Bilbo came home.

“As you wish, bunny.” Thorin replied. “Starlight is revered by many.” He leaned in close to whisper something in Bilbo’s ear, stressing every syllable with long flicks of his tongue. “Thatrulkhud, in Khuzdûl.” Thorin glanced down again just to watch Bilbo shiver with pleasure.

“Thorin Oakenshield.” Bilbo gasped. “You did that on purpose.”

“Did I?” Thorin was watching him with a wicked blue glint. Making a lustful grab for his arse. “I intend to teach you some new words come the wedding night.” Thorin suddenly seemed to remember they were not alone. “I trust I can leave the details to you, Balin.” Thorin turned back to the hobbit. “You will make your own clothes, of course.”

“In three days?” Bilbo squeaked incredulously. Wishing he was better read on Dwarven culture before agreeing to become Consort Under the Mountain.

“It is tradition.” Thorin clarified. Adopting the same expression that sat on Balin when he scolded Bilbo earlier. “My halls should be made ready for you, amrâlimê. But as you have already done me the honour of filling a space in my bed, I shall have to think of something else. My sister is good with organising. Dís? Take care of Bilbo until I return.” And with that, he swept away again to make sure all the rooms were readied for the impending guests.

“Oh, it’s going to be a disaster.” Bilbo groaned into his hands. “The only time I ever picked up a needle and thread was to darn a hole in my waistcoat.”

“Hush now.” Dís petted him. “I will help you. For you have brought my brother much happiness, Bilbo. I see the change in him every day.”

“What’s abkân?” Bilbo asked slowly. Waiting for Thorin to leave before he even attempted a single word of Khuzdûl.

“The marriage.” Dís answered. “Awakening after the betrothal.”

“Oh.” Bilbo murmured. “It’s all very romantic, really. I feel very lucky to be a part of it. I just hope Thorin will be less caught up in the running of Erebor when the little one arrives.”

“I have no doubt the child will be cherished beyond measure. Being a father will make him a better Dwarf and a better king.”

“He is already perfect to me.”

Dís took Bilbo’s hand.

“It fills my heart to see how much you care for him.”

Bilbo looked up at her with dewy eyes.

“I think I loved him from the beginning.” Bilbo never imagined then how much Dís would come to adore that strange little malkân with the twitchy nose and pointed ears. “Right from the beginning.”

Over the next two days, invited guests started pouring through the gates of Erebor at a disturbing rate. Yavanna only knew how they were going to accommodate everyone. Bilbo was completely overwhelmed that so many fair and noble people cared enough to attend his wedding. Practically everyone of significance had been invited. A very few were overlooked by accident, but since most of Middle-earth intended to turn up all the same, that didn’t really matter. Bilbo scanned the sea of faces for someone he was expecting. Hesitating when he saw a familiar shape tower above the rest. He pushed his way through the gathering crowds while his gaze trailed ever higher.

“Beorn!” Bilbo beamed with delight. How he had missed those deep eyes and voice full of wisdom and comfort. “You can’t imagine how happy I am to see you.”

“Good day to you, little master.” Beorn smothered the poor hobbit in his huge arms and squeezed a bit too hard.

“Careful.” Bilbo cried in alarm, startled by the suffocating embrace.

“Come now.” Beorn set him back down. “You are made of sterner stuff, halfling. It is no bad thing to be healthy and plump again.”

“Actually.” Bilbo stared up at the skin-changer, not offended in the slightest. “I’m going to have a baby.”

“Ho!” Beorn seemed unnaturally animated about that. “I heard young Master Oakenshield was alive and well.” Beorn had been more than a little surprised to receive an invitation. The deep chestnut hue of his eyes lingered on the tell-tale curves of Bilbo’s stomach. It wasn’t much of a leap to figure out the parentage. “That explains much. So, you got your heart’s desire, after all.”

Bilbo couldn’t hold back a wide smile.

“I did.”

“Then, it is a merry day.” Beorn rumbled, words vibrating through his chest. “And I am glad to celebrate it with you.” Bilbo was still grinning up at him when Beorn slipped one large hand inside a copious pocket to pull out a jar of honey. Golden syrup swirling around inside it like rich amber sap. “This is for you, little bunny.” Beorn thrust the jar into Bilbo’s hand, his tiny fingers just able to wrap around the container. “It is my very best. Build you up big and proper, it will.” Bilbo looked down at his swollen belly.

“Yes. I think that’s a very strong possibility.” Bilbo felt himself tearing up again. Everyone seemed so genuinely happy for him. “Thank you. I can never repay you for this, and all your past kindness.”

Beorn laughed. Deep and hearty.

“Your happiness is enough reward.” Beorn answered cheerfully. “I could not forget the sadness in your eyes when you last passed through those lands. Maybe now you will have the heart to plant my acorn.”

“Oh.” The hobbit gasped when a precious memory suddenly resurfaced. He couldn’t even remember when he saw it last. “I’m sorry, Beorn.” Bilbo apologised. “I think I lost it.”

Beorn soon disappeared into the throng (as much as one can when you’re ten feet tall). Bilbo strained his gaze ever further until he finally spotted the one person he had been waiting for.

“Elves and Dragons!” Falco exclaimed, dropping his pack at Bilbo’s feet. “What a journey.” He slapped the back of his neck with one hand. “Those blessed midges are coming in now Spring’s on its way, and the mountain slopes all look the same from down there. I almost lost my way. Twice. How are you?” There were too many questions all at once, and Bilbo could hardly process them in turn, let alone come up with a solid response. “And where is this dwarf you wanted me to meet? Your letter did seem rather insistent, cousin.”

Falco was still prattling on when Bilbo pointed discreetly to a sturdy warrior with golden hair and perfectly edged braids hanging from each side of his mouth. Kíli was by his side. For once, Falco was temporarily speechless.

“Oh. You were right, Bilbo.” Falco blushed shamelessly when he noticed the dwarf staring at him. “He is handsome.”

“I knew you would like him.” Bilbo whispered back. It almost felt like they were young fauntlings matchmaking back in the Shire. “He’s brave too, you know. And the art he has with those knives.” Bilbo made a little humming noise in the back of his throat. “Must have magic fingers.”

“Oh.” Falco murmured again, falling into awed silence. Eyes like deep pools while he imagined all the dextrous things those skilled hands could do to a willing Hobbit. “Introduce me, then. I know you didn’t ask me to come all this way for nothing.” Bilbo had quite forgotten how much work Falco was. Not sure they were actually related at all. Bilbo deliberately called the astonished dwarf over. Fíli felt his tongue slip out of his mouth when he got closer to the mysterious Hobbit. He looked exactly like Bilbo.

“Hello, Fíli.” Bilbo said brightly, secretly assessing every micro expression. “I would like you to meet someone. This is my cousin, Falco Chubb-Baggins.”

“Cousin?” Fíli stumbled. They could have easily passed for brothers. Kíli was so terrified of missing something, he followed Fíli over.

“That’s right.” Bilbo continued, relishing every second of watching those two stare at each other in dumb silence. “Falco, this is Fíli. Nephew to Thorin, and son of Princess Dís.” Even in the West, her reputation preceded her. He heard Falco swallow down a sizable lump.

“Don’t make any sudden moves when you meet her.” Kíli whispered, through a mischievous smile. “She can smell fear.” The dwarf added, content to watch his brother drooling. Not convinced Bilbo’s decision to extend an invite to a Hobbit with such a striking family resemblance was entirely accidental. Nor a happy coincidence that Fíli had turned up with a bunch of Elves. Maybe fate was just on a break while Elrond and Bilbo gave destiny a shove. Falco was soon whisked away by Fíli to explore the subterranean kingdom, so Bilbo headed back to Thorin’s chambers alone. All he could think about was those he loved trusting in him to be the perfect consort for their king. Bilbo was going to throw up on principle when he had to be escorted down the endless stretch of golden flooring. His heart throbbing wildly every time he imagined the events to come. Still not sure if it was amazement or panic but there was bugger all he could do about it now. Soon Bilbo would be sitting on the throne of Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kh. Azlâf' : Sleep/The first stage of betrothal  
> Kh. Amrâlimê : Love of mine/My love  
> Kh. Abkân : Awakening/Marriage  
> Si. Mereth-nuin-Giliath : Feast Under Stars/The Feast of Starlight  
> Kh. Thatrulkhud : Starlight  
> Kh. Malkân : Half-man/Halfling


End file.
